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Works by 

ROBERT GRANT. 

MRS. HAROLD STAGG. 12mo., 
240 pages. Illustrated. Hand- 
somely bound in cloth, price, 
$1.00. Paper cover, 50 cents. 

THE CARLETONS. 12mo., 309 
pages. Illustrated. Handsomely 
bound in cloth, price, $1.00. 
Paper cover, 50 cents. 



























•< 


THE CARLETONS 


31 Novel 


BY 

Robert Grant, 

Author of “Mrs. Harold Staggf etc. 


ILLUSTRATED BY WILSON DE MEZA. 


NEW YORK: 


li/ytrZW 


ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 


PUBLISHERS. 


THE LEDGER LIBRARY : I6SUED SEMI-MONTHLY. SUBSCRIPTION PRICE, TWELVE DOLLARS PER ANNUM. NO. 48, 
AUGUST 15, 1891. ENTERED AT THE NEW YORK, N. Y., POST OFFICE AS SECOND CLASS MAIL MATTER, 



/ 








Copyright 1891 , 

By ROBERT BONNER’S SONS. 


{All rights reserved.) 


PRESS OP 

THE NEW YORK LEDGER, 
NEW YORK. 















THE CARLETONS. 


CHAPTER I. 

REUNITED. 

OHN CARLETON, when he went away 
to fight for the Union, had left his five 
children babies, so to speak ; they 
appeared to him, on his return at the 
close of the War, grown almost out of 
recognition. There was William, the 
eldest, whom every one called Bill, just 
as they called the next boy Ben instead 
of Benjamin, the name by which he had 
been christened after his mother's father. 
Bill at this time was seventeen, and Ben 
sixteen. Next followed Constance and Violet, whose 
ages were fifteen and thirteen respectively ; and ten- 
year-old Harold brought up the rear of the family pro- 
cession. 



8 


The Carle tons. 


They lived in a suburban town only twenty minutes 
by train from the city, whither their father went every 
day to transact his business, and the house they occu- 
pied, where they had been born and thus far brought 
up, stood pleasantly on the crest of a gently sloping hill, 
at one base of which was a large pond. The house, 
which had belonged to their grandfather, Deacon Ben- 
jamin Fitch, and to his father before him, was a 
spacious dwelling in the colonial style, with large rooms, 
open hearths and old-fashioned furniture and appliances. 
Owners of newer cottages occasionally spoke of the old 
homestead as an old rattletrap, and explained how 
quickly it would burn up or burn down if it should once 
catch fire, forgetting, apparently, that it had stood proof 
for nearly half a century against peril from defective 
flues, match-gnawing mice and careless housemaids. 
It was built by Mrs. Carleton’s grandfather, Benjamin 
Fitch, who fought in the Revolutionary War. Her 
father, Deacon Benjamin Fitch, after living in it all 
his days and dying without male heirs, devised it to her, 
the eldest of his three daughters, as her share of his 
property. Near the house stretched a fruit orchard that 
sloped gradually up to a bit of lawn, beyond which the 
buff and white mansion towered up as a land-mark for 
the neighborhood. 

Such was the aspect of the place when John Carleton 
married Mary Fitch. He was a country lad who had 
left his father's farm, like many before him, to seek his 
fortune in a city. After an apprenticeship of half a 
dozen years in a counting-room, he had started out in 
the lumber business on his own account, about the same 
time that he happened to make the acquaintance of the 


Reunited. 


9 


deacon’s pretty daughter, with whom he fell in love 
forthwith. His love was reciprocated, and, though the 
deacon hemmed and hawed a little, as a deacon is apt 
to do when a young man who has his way to make asks 
for the hand of his favorite child, he gave his consent 
at last, and they were married. They set up house- 
keeping in a little box in the village proper, some half 
a mile from Highlands, as the old homestead was 
called ; but before the ' end of three years, the dea- 
con's wife having died, and his two other daughters 
having married and gone to live elsewhere, the old 
man transplanted the new establishment, which boasted 
two babies already, to his own fireside. 

Twelve months later, he died, too, and when his will 
was read, John and Mary Carleton found themselves 
master and mistress of Highlands. Here they had 
lived ever since, and here the five children, Bill, Ben, 
Constance, Violet and Harold, had grown up from 
infancy to youth. John Carleton, who was too much 
engrossed with his lumber business to take upon him- 
self the responsibilities of agriculture, had leased the 
greater portion of the thirty acres for cultivation to a 
neighbor ; so that the domain of Highlands, strictly 
speaking, was limited to the hill-sides, the orchard, and 
the almost superfluous farm buildings. At every 
season, the big house itself, as well as the cluster of 
out-buildings, had furnished a rare abundance of nooks, 
angles and crannies, closets, cubby-holes and presses 
appropriate for hiding-places. 

There came a time, which lingered vividly in the 
memory of Bill and Ben, when there was much talk and 
heated discussion among their elders about “ Free 


IO 


The Carle tons. 


Sorters” and “Union Democrats;” when torchlight 
processions paraded the streets, and when every school- 
boy wore around his neck a miniature of one of the four 
Presidential candidates, thereby reflecting the political 
preferences of his father. John Carleton’s boys were 
strenuous supporters of Lincoln and Hamlin, whereas 
Sam Logan and Harrison Fay, the sons of neighbors 
who lived on the other side of the pond, hurrahed for 
Bell and Everett, the nominees of the so-called Union 
party. 

As a consequence, Bill and Ben, after sundry 
skirmishes, were forced to retire under cover of the 
cow-barn, on the afternoon before election day, in order 
to escape being pummelled by those worthies, who had 
reinforced themselves with a big brother apiece of 
their way of thinking. After the returns came in, and 
victory sat rampant on the Free-Soil banners, the Carle- 
tons were so far elated as to lie in wait for Sam and 
Harrison after school, and rub their faces with new- 
fallen snow ; a triumph which lost its glamour, how- 
ever, six months later, when they beheld the two elder 
brothers aforesaid marching as members of the drum- 
corps at the head of the first company which the town 
contributed to help save the Union. 

For to Sam and Harrison it was vouchsafed, when- 
ever the company halted, to finger the drum-sticks, and 
have explained to them the mysteries of the knapsacks 
and the other accoutrements comprising the kit of their 
more fortunate brothers, while Bill and Ben looked on 
with hungry-eyed envy from the edge of the crowd, and 
wished themselves half a dozen years older, so that 
they might go to the war, too. But their opportunity 


Reunited. 


1 1 


to be proud and important arrived at last, when it came 
their father’s turn to enlist. This was a few months 
later — months during which the conflict in John Carle- 
ton’s breast between the love he bore his family and 
the love he bore his country had perplexed him sorely. 

How eagerly he would have joined these first volun- 
teers but for the knowledge that he had a wife and. 
children at home dependent on his labors. So he had 
swallowed his desire, and bent himself to his daily task 
in the endeavor to close his ears to the rattle of the 
drums summoning able-bodied men to rally round the 
Stars and Stripes, until, a few months later, the news of * 
the Battle of Bull Run threw the North into conster- 
nation. 

John hurried to his office next day with set lips ; he 
had determined to enlist. His partner, Henry Hazard, 
who had been a Bell-and-Everett man, met him with the 
words : 

“ I can’t stand this any longer ; I’m going to the 
front.” 

“ I told my wife the same thing this morning,” 
answered John. 

“ We can’t both go, or the business will go to the 
dogs.” 

“ Bother the business !” 

This sounded bravely, but the next moment common 
sense was whispering in John’s ear that he was talking 
nonsense, which caused him to scratch his head ruefully 
and survey his partner with a scowl, as he realized that 
Hazard was right, and that one of them must stay at 
home. Then, quick as a flash, he drew out of his pocket 
a gold eagle he had carried there for luck ever since he 


12 


The Carletons . 


had set tip for himself in trade, and flipped it into the 
air. 

“ Heads or tails, Henry ? The one who wins has the 
choice. Quick ! It is a go ?” 

Hazard nodded, and as the coin struck the floor with 
a ring, said : 

“ Heads !” 

John stopped feverishly to examine it. 

“It’s a tail!” he cried, with an elation that he was 
unable to repress. 

“ I’ll do my utmost to see the business doesn’t suffer 
while you’re gone,” said Hazard, yielding to fate. 

“ You deserve to win, Henry, for it was you who spoke 
first.” 

“ But you are more fit to go, John. It is best, 
perhaps, as it is.” 

Hazard was small and rather delicate, while John was 
tall and strapping. 

“ I’d rather have lost a leg than have lost the toss,” 
John had said afterward in describing the occurrence ; 
but he was fortunate enough not to lose, like so many 
poor fellows, either a leg or an arm as a consequence of 
his patriotism. He was one of the fortunate heroes who 
went through the War without a scratch, and he had 
now come back to his family very little the worse for 
wear, a little grayer, a little older, and with a few more 
creases in his thin, weather-beaten face, but practically 
the same old John according to the testimony of his 
wife, which was assuredly the best. 

There had been anxious months of waiting in the 
interval, months of suspense and uncertainty, when 
nothing was heard from him, and when the only news 


Reunited. 


T 3 


from the army was of disaster. Not only his wife, but 
the children as well, had learned the terrible meaning of 
war from the faces of their neighbors whose husbands 
and fathers and sons were taken from them forever. 
There were few words spoken , they could only hope 
with the courage of helplessness, and echo the prayer 
which fell from the unconscious lips of baby Harold, 
“Dod bless dear papa, and bring him safe home 
adain.” 

It was not strange, therefore, that John Carleton 
found his boys and girls grown older in their looks and 
ways, almost grown up, as he said, and no longer the 
merely exuberant children he had left them. As he 
glanced around the dinner- table on the day of his return 
home, a new sense of responsibility mingled itself with 
his happiness. Here were five young beings on the 
threshold of the great world, for whose needs, plenty of 
roast beef, and bread and butter, and warm clothing 
would no longer suffice. It behooved him to consider 
forthwith their mental and their moral welfare, how 
best the boys could be helped to an honest livelihood, 
and the girls be taught domestic and other virtues that 
would fit them to become wives and mothers. 

He himself had left home when he was fifteen, at 
which time his schooling had come to an end. He was 
naturally proud of his success, but, unlike many self- 
made men, he was not so far infatuated by the fact that 
he had been moderately prosperous in trade, and was 
known to be a bustling, driving business man, as to 
declare that the advantages of a liberal education were 
over-estimated, and that what had been good enough for 
him was good enough for his sons. On the contrary, he 


The Cctrletons . 


*4 


had always said that he would scrimp himself to give 
his boys the chance of going to college if they wished 
to go there, a conclusion which had the hearty sympathy 
of his wife, whose ancestors for five generations back 
had been college-bred men. 

Indeed, it had been a thorn in the flesh of Deacon 
Fitch that one of his daughters should marry a man 
without reverence for book-learning. Whatever John 
Carleton may have said on the subject, by way of sheer 
contrariness, when in the presence of his father-in-law, 
he was in the habit of admitting, in moments of confi- 
dence, that the regret of his life was that his early educa- 
tion had been neglected. Still he was apt to conclude 
an observation of this kind with some such cheery utter- 
ance as : 

“Well, sir, there’s no use in crying over spilt milk. 
I’m a plain man, but, thank God, I’ve been an honest 
one so far, and a tolerably successful one, too, even if I 
do say it who shouldn’t ” — a statement which he ordin- 
arily emphasized by diving his hands deep into his trou- 
sers’ pockets and squaring his shoulders. 

The reflection that something definite as to the future 
of Bill, at least, ought to be decided without delay, was 
driven from his mind by the appearance, on fire, of the 
plum-pudding provided in his honor, which evoked a 
prolonged traditional “Whew !” of applause. But after 
its place had been supplanted by the nuts and oranges, 
and certainly the junior members of the family had be- 
come less hilarious from repletion, it recurred to him, 
and he said : 

“ When were you seventeen, Bill ?” 

“ Six months ago yesterday, father.” 


Reunited. 


15 


“ Well, I suppose you’ll be about ready to go to col- 
lege a year from now ?” 

There was a general pause, and all eyes were directed 
toward the eldest-born, who, however, appeared to be 
discomforted by the inquiry, and looked at his plate in 
silence. 

“ I heard Bill say the other day he wasn’t going to col- 
lege,” remarked Harold, who was a chubby curly-head 
with big brown eyes. 

Bill looked up and glared at the offender. 

“ How’s that, Bill ?” asked his father. 

“ I’d rather go into business.” 

John Carleton glanced at his wife, whose expression 
was troubled. 

“ Don’t you want a good education, Bill?” 

“ You didn’t go to college, father.” 

“ No ; but I never had the chance. My father wasn’t 
able to send me.” 

“ But you’ve got on without it.” 

J ohn could not help feeling pleased in spite of himself 
at this spontaneous testimony to his own repute, but he 
felt it to be his duty to point out to Bill the advantages 
of book-learning. 

“ Yes, I’ve got on after a fashion, of course, but that 
doesn’t prove that I shouldn’t have got on further if I’d 
been better educated.” 

“ You’re a colonel,” interjected Violet proudly, by 
way evidently of reminding her father that there was 
not much leeway left for progress on* his part. 

“Yes, Lettie ; but, perhaps I might have become a 
general if I had known more,” he answered, looking up, 
as he spoke, at his colonel’s sword suspended over the 


i6 


The Carletons . 


mantel-piece, crossed with an old musket that a Carleton 
had carried in the Revolutionary War. 

“ Or President,” suggested Mrs. Carleton, fondly. 

“The White House would be scarcely in my line, 
my dear. But for the matter of that, more than one 
of our Presidents have been self-made men.” 

“ That is they succeeded in spite of their lack of educa- 
tion, and because so many of their constituents were un- 
educated also.” 

“ You hear what your mother says, Bill ? She wants 
you to go to college.” 

“ But I hate study, father. I’ve thought it all over 
carefully, and I don’t care to go to college,” he con- 
tinued. “ Mother and I have discussed the matter be- 
fore.” 

Bill was unlike his father in appearance. As the 
phrase is, he favored his mother’s family, especially his 
grandfather Fitch, whose compact, thick-set figure and 
square-j awed, deliberate mien he had inherited. 

“ A college course would not interfere with your going 
into your father’s office when you were graduated,” said 
Mrs. Carleton. 

“ After four years ! In four years, mother, a fellow 
can get a mighty good start in business.” 

“ In four years I shall wear my hair up and long 
dresses,” said Violet, fervently ; whereat Constance 
smiled, and Harold sniffed disdainfully. It was the 
elder sister’s smile that rankled, but the little girl’s 
vehement response was addressed to Harold. 

“ Of course I shall. I’ll be seventeen then . Maud 
Logan is only seventeen, and she goes to parties. So !” 

“ S-h, children l” 


Reunited. 


17 


“ But she does, mother/* 

“ I know, Lettie ; hut your father and Bill are dis- 
cussing a much more important topic/* 

John Carleton had shoved his hands into his trousers 
pockets, and sat looking at his eldest-born with a smile 
which reflected a certain pride that his son should be 
content to be a chip of the old block. He could sym- 
pathize with the youngster’s desire to get on with the 
least possible delay ; for it reminded him of his own feel- 
ings thirty years before. 

“ Well, my boy/* he said, after a moment, “ you’ll 
never be able to complain that you were not given the 
chance to go to college. I’m not a rich man, but I prom- 
ised your mother when you boys were born that if by 
hook or by crook we could afford the outlay, you should 
have the opportunity. If you don’t wish to go, that’s 
another matter. Some fathers under similar circum- 
stances would send you, without regard to your prefer- 
ences : and I don’t say that if I were to imitate them I 
shouldn’t be doing you a service in the long run ; but 
my idea of bringing up children, after they are old 
enough to have opinions, is to tell them what I consider 
best for them, and then let them act for themselves. 
You know that your mother and I would rather have 
you continue your education ; if, however, in spite of 
that, you are bent on following your own judgment, I 
shall not interfere. You say you have thought it over ; 
and, if you are still of the same mind on the 1st of Janu- 
ary, it seems to me the sooner you enter my office, or 
some one else’s, the better. Eh, Mary ?** 

“ I suppose so,” answered the mother, with a sigh 
‘‘I am more than sorry, though/’ she continued, regard- 


i8 


The Car let ons. 


ing Bill, whose commonly imperturbable features were 
dancing with delight. 

“ Cheer up, mumsy dear,” he said ; and rising from 
his seat he slipped behind her chair, and putting his face 
against hers, whispered : “ If I were to go to college I 
should only waste my time.” 

“ We must trust to Ben to be the scholar of the 
family,” exclaimed John Carleton, with a cheerfulness 
which showed he did not take Bill’s decision seriously 
to heart, and nodding in the direction of his second- 
born. 

“ Oh, yes, I mean to go,” answered Ben, promptly. 
“ That is, if I can pass the examination.” 

Ben was almost the counterpart of his father in per- 
sonal appearance. He promised to be tall, thin and 
wiry ; he had bright eyes and the same impulsive man- 
ner which suggested earnestness. He was seated next 
to his mother, who, as he spoke, put out her hand and 
laid it affectionately on one of his. 

“ I was sure of this one, but I wanted both,” she said. 

“ It takes all sorts of people to make up a world,” 
answered John. “ Besides, you have Harold still to 
count on. Let me see — you are ten, Harold ?” 

“ Eleven, next month, father.” 

“ Bless me, how the time flies ! Before we know it 
you’ll all of you be married and settled, and your 
mother and I be left alone in the old nest.” 

“ If there’s a war I shall go,” announced Harold. 
“ And if there isn’t,” he added, reflectively, “ I shall be 
a hack-driver.” 

“ There, my dear, didn’t I tell you that it takes all 
sorts of people to make up a world?” exclaimed John, 


Reunited. 


l 9 


in the midst of the merriment. “ Don’t let them laugh 
at you, Harold. I’d rather hold the reins any time than 
ride inside.” 

“Constance says she doesn’t want to be married,” 
said Violet demurely, a moment after. 

“ What a story, Lettie Carleton !” 

“ You said you’d just as soon be an old maid as not.” 

“ What I said was that rather than run after boys, 
like Maud Logan, I’d die an old maid. And so I 
would !” 

“ That’s right, Constance,” said her father. “ Never 
run after the boys, or the boys won’t run after you.” 

“ I don’t want them to run after me.” 

“ I notice that* they do, though, just the same,” said 
Ben. “ I saw Percy White join you yesterday morning, 
Con, and you let him carry your satchel.” 

“ How could I help it ? He would walk with me.” 

There was a general look of surprised amusement, 
and Violet, unable to repress her delight, clasped her 
hands, and cried : 

“ Oh, Ben ! did he really ? Did she let him ?” while 
poor Constance turned the color of a peony. 

“ Gospel truth. I saw them with my own eyes.” 

“ I hated it,” protested Constance. “ I didn’t want 
him to join me, and he snatched the satchel from my 
hands.” 

“ Don’t mind what she says, Lettie. They were like 
turtle doves,” continued Ben, with a wink. “ i Mrs. 
Percy White’ is rather a pretty name.” 

“ Lovel-e-e,” giggled Violet, as Constance, who was 
sitting next to Ben, clapped her hands over his mouth 
to suppress him. 


20 


The Carletons . 


“ You — ought — to have seen — them,” articulated the 
struggling tormentor. “ Let me — go — Con — and I'll tell 
— the — truth — if you’d rather. It was a sight to make 
Cupid weep with despair,” he continued, having freed 
himself. “ Percy had been lying in wait for her ever 
since breakfast, and as Con passed his gate, out he 
popped as if it were accidental, and took off his hat with 
a flourish. I was at Harrison Fay’s, and I could see Con 
blush clear across the street. She looked mad as a hor- 
net, and I thought she’d bolt. You did try to brush past 
him, didn’t you, Con, but Percy wasn’t going to bo shaken 
off so easily ? He walked along beside you 9 and some- 
how he got your satchel. He’s pretty far gone on you, 
Con.” 

“ He’s an awful goose,” she murmured, bridling with 
confusion. “ If he ever joins me again, I’ll turn round 
and leave him.” 

“Why should you do that, dear?” said her mother. 
“ There is no sense in being rude.” 

“ He’s so silly,” Constance answered, with scornful 
emphasis. “ He tries to pay compliments all the time.” 

“ Oh, what did he say, Con ?” asked Violet. 

“ No matter.” 

“ ‘ The rose is red,’ ” began Ben. 

“ ‘ The violet’s blue,’ ” continued the younger sister, 
with another explosive giggle. 

“ ‘ The pink is sweet, and so are you/ ” 

“You two are almost as silly as he is,” said the victim, 
with a disdainful air of dignity. 

“ Never mind, Con, I’ve no more use for Percy White 
than you have,” asserted Bill. “ He has too many frills. 
Wears kid gloves all the time.” 


Reunited. 


21 


“ I know of certain persons who might occasionally 
follow his example to advantage,” observed Mrs. Carle- 
ton, with a smile. 

“ That’s meant for us, Ben,” said Bill. “ The Fays' 
pup chewed up one of my gloves after church last Sun- 
day. I guess I’ve got it here !” he exclaimed, groping 
in his pocket and producing at last a drab-colored con- 
glomeration which only by a stretch of fancy was 
recognizable as a pair of kid gloves. 

“ It’s pretty hard to tell which is the chewed one,” he 
added, with a rueful laugh. 

Mrs. Carleton sighed good-naturedly. 

“Look at that, John. I bought those new ten days 
ago.” 

“ Never mind, mumsy,” answered her husband. “ You 
mark my words, it won’t be long before he is a thorough- 
going young dandy.” 

“ Not much, father,” said Bill. 

“ We’ll see. I wager that in a year you’ll be prinking 
before the glass and making up to the girls.” 

“ I'm sure he’ll never do anything so foolish, father,” 
declared Constance, firmly. 

“ Indeed, Miss Pink of Propriety ! Why, pray, 
shouldn’t he, if his sister walks in the street with young 
men who wear kid gloves and insist on carrying her 
satchel ?” 

“ I didn’t think you could be so unkind, father. It’s 
all your fault, Ben,” Constance added, with a glance of 
reproach at the author of her woes. 

“ You’d better be careful what you say, miss, or you’ll 
get no share of what Cousin Rebecca Hubbard leaves 
me. I saw her to-day and helped her into her carriage, 


22 


The Corletons . 


and I feel pretty confident from her manner that she’s 
thinking of making a will in my favor.” 

“ Pooh !” said "Bill. “ Violet has the inside track, and 
she has promised to go halves with me, haven’t you, 
Lettie ? How was the old lady looking ?” 

“A little shaky. I — ” 

“ Children, children, how can you ? S-h !” exclaimed 
their mother, raising a warning finger as the servant- 
maid re-entered, but smiling in spite of herself. 

Cousin Rebecca Hubbard was a family hope. She 
was Mrs. Carleton’s first cousin, a lone spinster possessed 
of a handsome property, with no nearer relations than 
cousins, of whom, however, there was a baker’s dozen 
beside the Carletons. 

“ Did you ask after the parrot ?” inquired Violet. 

“ Of course I did, and I made particular inquiries for 
the health of Toby, the dog.” 

At this there was a shout, and Violet cried : 

“ He died last summer !” 

“ Golly ! So he did. I thought Cousin Rebecca 
looked a little sharp after I asked the question.” 

“ I wouldn’t give a sour apple for your chances !” ex- 
claimed Bill, delightedly. 

“ Cousin Rebecca Hubbard is a remarkably well-pre- 
served woman,” said their father, “ and is likely to live 
these twenty years. It’s a mistake, children, to trouble 
yourselves about other people’s money. I’ve made that 
a rule all my life and I’m satisfied it’s a good one.” 

“We were not really in earnest, father,” said Con- 
stance. 

“ I hope Cousin Rebecca will live till she’s one hun- 
dred, I’m sure,” said Bill, “ but it’s sort of good fun to 


Reunited . 


23 


wonder whom she’ll leave her property to when she 
does die, for she’s the only rich relation we’ve got, and 
she might just as well leave it to us as anybody.” 

“ It’s the money a man earns that makes a man of 
him,” answered Mr. Carleton. 

“But how about a woman, father?” asked Violet. 
“ She can’t make a fortune for herself.” 

“ There’s no reason why she shouldn’t support her- 
self, though,” said Constance, warmly. “ I think every 
woman ought to be able to.” 

“Yes, if she means to be an old maid!” retorted 
Violet with a laugh. 

“ Now, Lettie, you young mischief, you just look out 
that it isn’t you who’s the old maid,” said her father. 
“ I know a thing or two ; and mark my words, you 
won’t be five years older before many a young fellow 
in search of a wife will be down on his knees to my 
Constance.” 

“ And the chances according to present indications, 
are that Percy White will be the first one down !” ejacu- 
lated Ben ; at which Violet snickered gleefully. 

“ Don’t mind them, Con,” said Mrs. Carleton, sym- 
pathetically. “ They are too silly to answer.” 

“ I don’t mind them a bit, mother. They may try to 
tease me all they please, now that we have father home 
again.” 

“ A noble sentiment, Con,” said Bill. “ Three cheers 
for father !” 

They were given with gusto, and supplemented with 
a tiger. 

The colonel sfniled and glanced across the table at his 
wife, in whose happy eyes tears were already sparkling. 


24 


The Carle tons. 


His mouth twitched a little, and he faltered once before 
he said : 

“ God bless you all, my darlings. He knows how 
lonely I have been these four years without your mother 
and you. But that is past now, and we are once more a 
united family.” 




CHAPTER n. 

THE CHILDREN. 

Mrs. Carleton, the mother of these children, was a 
cheerful, equable woman, who, as her acquaintance said, 
took life easily ; that is to say, domestic worries and 
the wear and tear of a good-sized family had not made 
apparent inroads on her health, or ruffled her habitual 
serenity of temper. She was wont to declare, when 
congratulated on this account, that it was natural to her 
to be easy-going, just as it was in her nature to grow fat 
as she grew older. Those who had known her as a girl, 
however, remembered her as rather slim and nervous, 
from which it might be fairly argued that self-discipline 
may have abetted nature in producing her present 
amiable rotundity. She was, moreover, a practical 
person, with ample knowledge regarding cooking recipes, 
the care of the sick, precautions against moths, and other 
vital household concerns. What she termed her leisure 
was associated in the minds of her husband and children 
with a pile of stockings or mittens and a darning-needle, 
to which she was wont to apply herself in a particular 
arm-chair beside the round table in the parlor, after she 
had finished the evening paper. She had been an 


26 


The Carle tons . 


assiduous reader before marriage, but one saw rarely 
now a book in her hand. When Ben, as a little boy, on 
one occasion, had inquired if the reason why she did not 
read books was because she had read all there were in 
the world, her answer had been : 

“ No, my dear ; but I am waiting for you children to 
catch up with me, in order that we may all go on 
together.” 

Out of this explanation, accepted at the time as valid, 
had grown a family ambition to catch up with mother ; 
the fear of never doing which had been efficaciously 
employed as a check to idleness. And, by way of giving 
credit to this assumption of knowledge, she had encour- 
aged her children to appeal to her for assistance in their 
lessons when in straits ; and seldom had they appealed 
to her in vain for the solution of an intricate problem in 
arithmetic or the translation of a Latin sentence. To 
watch her work these answers out was itself a lesson in 
patience. 

One day, however, the self-same Ben had laid before 
her a page of hieroglyphics, at which she shook her 
head. 

“ What is that, my dear ?” 

“ Greek, mumsy,” was the proud rejoinder. 

“ It is certainly Greek to me. Take it away, Ben. You 
have caught up with your mother at last,” she added 
with a fond smile. 

“ And, indeed, you have not, Ben,” exclaimed John 
Carleton, breaking in upon the chorus of triumph which 
this announcement brought forth from the children. 
“ You may thank your lucky stars, young man, if you 


The Children. 


27 


ever catch up with your mother. It isn’t only in book- 
learning that she has a long lead over us all.” 

“ It’s of book-learning we’re talking, John,” she said 
quietly, “ and Ben is right. What was a good education 
in my day, isn’t of much account in this ; and correctly, 
too, for the world should grow wiser as it grows older.” 

Ben was the student of the family as has been inti- 
mated, while Bill was practical and rather matter-of- 
fact in his tastes. Bill and Constance were devoted to 
each other, although she was almost as fond of books as 
Ben. She idolized her eldest brother, and looked to 
him for advice ; and he in turn shared his opinions and 
secrets with her as with no one else. Ben, without 
regard to gender, had long ago dubbed them “ Damon and 
Pythias.” He, on the other hand, was a constant ally of 
Violet, rather because each was of an ironical turn of 
mind, than because their tastes in general were similar. 

Constance was tall for her age, and like her father 
and Ben, spare in face and figure. She had luxuriant 
auburn hair and a ruddy complexion, but her beauty 
was her big, brown, wistful eyes, which, as a visitor 
at the house once expressed it, seemed to be perpetually 
searching for the infinite. Though sweet-tempered, her 
expression was habitually grave, and readily became 
luminous with high resolve, or stern with self-dissatis- 
faction. The opportunities and obligations of life had 
begun early to weigh upon her tender spirit, making all 
else seem trivial. 

“ The dear child takes every thing too seriously,” Mrs. 
Carleton would murmur to herself, with a sigh and 
shake of the head, as she sat over her darning. “ She 
will fret herself into the grave with her over-con- 


28 


The Carletons. 


scientiousness and self-scrutiny. I do wish she were a 
little more ready, like Violet, to take the world as she 
finds it.” 

At other times, Mrs. Carleton was inclined to wish, 
with a deeper sigh, that Violet, or Lettie, as she was 
called in the bosom of her family, had a little more of 
her sister’s sense of responsibility. The pair were 
signally unlike, both in person and character. Violet, 
though two years younger than Constance, weighed 
more. She was a hearty, plump, buxom-looking girl 
full of animal spirits. Until very recently, she had 
been content to be a tom-boy, and a photograph, taken 
a year and a half before, represented her dragging a 
sled, attired in a reefer and astrachan-trimmed cap, 
from under which her black hair flowed down, and then 
up again in a short, curving cataract. She was no lon- 
ger proud of this, and the epithet, “ tom-boy,” entered 
like an iron into her soul, for she yearned to be grown 
up, and to put away, not only boyish, but girlish deport- 
ment. The cataract had now dwindled into a so-called 
pig-tail confined by a ribbon, and she was looking for- 
ward to the day when she would be able to do up her 
hair like Constance, on whom the privilege seemed 
entirely lost. Moreover, she had lately revealed a fond- 
ness for bright colors in her apparel, which, though 
somewhat startling in its results, showed that her mind 
was exercised with what she wore. 

“ If only it were Constance !” Mrs Carleton would 
say. “ It’s as much as I can do to get her to take the 
faintest interest in her clothes, and the mere mention of 
the word * boy ' apart from her brothers, drives her into 
her shell.” 



CHAPTER III. 

THE CHANGE OF FRONT. 

About a fortnight after her husband’s return home, 
Mrs. Carleton remarked one evening when the children 
had gone to bed : 

“ I had something on my mind, John, and I wonder 
what you will think of it. What should you say to our 
moving into the city to live for a few years ?” 

He was silent a moment, then he emitted a long, low 
whistle, and said : 

“ What put that into your head, Mary ?” 

“ Oh, I have been thinking about it for some time. I 
believe that it will be a great thing for the children. 
They have reached the point where they need some- 
thing besides country air ; they need polishing. Com- 
pare that White boy, who has been staying at his uncle’s 
the past month, with Bill and Ben, and you can see the 
difference at a glance. Our boys are strong and hearty 
and manly, but they are awkward and without manners. 
So with the girls. Constance, on the one hand, is so shy 
that she nearly went into convulsions when the White 
boy, who had taken tea here, spoke to her in the street ; 
and Violet, on the other, has chosen Maud Logan as a 



30 


The Ccirletons. 


model. To tell the truth, John, Hampton is a small 
place without any educational facilities, and I want our 
children to have the best there are.” 

“ So they shall.” 

“ Of course, I was brought up here, and it might be 
argued that what was good enough for me is good enough 
for the children, but there wer’n’t so many advantages 
then, and, so long as a girl was amiable and a good 
housekeeper, it didn’t so much matter about the rest. 
Now, however, we are practically in the wilderness, in 
Hampton, so far as opportunities for cultivation. There 
are fewer nice people left here every year. You know 
I hate snobbishness, John ; but do you wish to see Violet 
grow up a second edition of Maud Logan ?” 

“ Maud is a good-natured soul,” said he, with a laugh, 
“ and every one likes her ; but I suppose I see what you 
mean. How many years have we lived in the old 
house ?” 

“ Nineteen next summer — nineteen happy years — and 
it breaks my heart, in one sense, to leave it ; but that 
isn’t a reason for staying on here, if our judgment tells 
us that we ought to go elsewhere for the children’s sake. 
You know I wouldn’t have breathed a word of such a 
thing if you hadn’t said the other day that the business 
had done well while you were gone, and that you were 
feeling comfortable in money matters.” 

“ Hazard carried out his share of the bargain, and no 
mistake. We’ve had four good years, but I am not a 
Croesus yet. Highlands wouldn’t bring much if it were 
put up at auction.” 

“ Oh, but we wouldn’t sell it ; we’d let it, or shut it 
up in winter, and come out here in the summer-time. 


The Change of Front . 


3 1 


Or even if you felt that we had to sell it,” she added, 
noticing the smile on his face, “ a few hundred dollars 
spent in modern improvements and a fresh coat of paint 
would make it look as good as new.” 

“ I suppose you’re not particular as to moving 
to-morrow ?” he inquired, jocularly. 

“Oh, John, you mustn’t think I’m unreasonable. I 
want to take time to consider the plan from all sides, 
and we will talk it over thoroughly ; and if, on reflec- 
tion, you decide that it won’t do, or that you can’t afford 
it, there will be an end of it. Only I thought that with 
Bill going into town to business every day, and Ben 
preparing for college, and the girls at the critical age 
when their ideas and manners are in process of forma- 
tion, it might be sensible for us to take a house in town 
for a few years.” 

“ Well, it certainly is worth considering,” he ans- 
wered. 

The result of this conversation was that one day, a 
few months later, John Carleton came home with the 
announcement that he had hired a house in the city, 
into which they would move as soon as the papering, 
plastering and plumbing had been put in apple-pie 
order. This took several months, and it was not until 
autumn that they were fairly settled in the new estab- 
lishment. Constance demurred sadly at leaving Hamp- 
ton and dear old Highlands. She had a hundred asso- 
ciations with the house and the woods and the lake and 
the farm buildings where they had played, and the trees 
in the orchard where they had perched themselves to 
read. Not even the representation that she would be 
able now to gratify her love of study and her desire to 


32 


The Carletons. 


make the most of herself far more satisfactorily than 
before, reconciled her to the change, especially as at the 
same time there were hints dropped as to dancing- 
school and other preparations for society. Violet, on the 
contrary, clapped her hands with delight when the 
plan was disclosed to her, and had been in a state of 
fever ever since, chiefly, after the first excitement pro- 
duced by the idea of moving into town subsided a little, 
over the prospect of having a new room of her own, 
concerning the furnishing of which she was greatly 
exercised. Her first suggestion was that the walls 
should be robin’s-egg blue, and the chair coverings old- 
gold color, which she discarded for white and gilt and 
crimson plush successively, finally to compromise on a 
modest blue paper dotted with white sprigs, a chintz 
and carpet to match, and a neat cherry-wood set. 

The boys, on the whole, were pleased at the change. 
Bill, who was in his father’s office, was glad to dispense 
with the daily trips in the train, though he turned up his 
nose at the ways of city ffellows, whom he affected to 
despise as dandies and muffs. Ben was gratified at the 
notion of being well fitted for college, especially as he 
was not to be separated entirely from Harrison Fay, 
who, after diverse phases of intimacy from childhood up, 
varying from month to month from open hostility to 
bosom friendship, had become his particular crony. 
Harrison was the son of Doctor Fay, the village physi- 
cian, and had decided tastes for natural history, which 
had been fostered by repeated expeditions with Ben after 
such birds, beasts, insects and reptiles as the woods in 
the neighborhood of Hampton afforded. He knew all 
about their habits, and he had made a large collection 


BED AS A PEONY, BILL TOOK THE SEAT MADE FOB HIM ON THE BENCH . — See Page 43 . 






















. • n. 





The Cha7ige of Front . 


33 


of eggs, one of insects, and another of minerals and like 
curiosities, of which he was immensely proud. It had 
not been quite decided what he was to do, except that 
he was to attend a scientific academy in the city forth- 
with. His present wish was to be a naturalist, but his 
father had cautioned him against too hasty a decision 
until he had dipped into other studies ; otherwise, he 
might discover when it was too late that he would rather 
have become a civil engineer, an architect or a chemist. 
As he would have to come to town eveiy day, there 
would be a chance, Ben hoped, of their meeting occa- 
sionally. 

The new house was a source of immense satisfaction 
to the entire family. After the make-shifts and old- 
fashioned equipments of the country, the entire domestic 
machinery seemed to run smoothly and slickly as the 
patent window-shades, which kept Harold absorbed for 
the first fortnight, until he had put two out of kelter and 
been forbidden to finger them further. After this he 
transferred his attention to the elevator, which was 
manipulated by a rope, and by means of which the wood 
and coal were hoisted to the several stories by the chore- 
man, letting himself up and down for the first six days 
of another week with increasing self-confidence. But on 
the seventh day, the household were suddenly summoned 
to the elevator- well by appalling cries. Mrs. Carleton 
fully expected to discover her youngest hopeful in the 
basement maimed for life if not dead ; but investigation 
proved that he was only a captive. The elevator had, 
for some reason, come to a pause half-way between the 
second and third stories, to the intense alarm of the 
venturesome Harold. No one could stir the rope, and 


34 


The Carle tons. 


there he was stuck, like Mahomet’s coffin, between 
heaven and earth. It was necessary to send for a 
mechanic who understood the machine ; and in the 
meantime the victim, after it was obvious that he was in 
no danger, was admonished, chaffed and sympathized 
with in due course. Although it seemed not unfitting 
that the traditional bread and water of prison fare 
should be his portion, his mother’s heart softened at 
dinner-time, and a basket of more enticing viands was 
lowered to him amid general laughter, and before the 
supper hour he was released from durance vile. 

44 I wonder who our neighbors are,” said Mrs. Carleton 
one day, when for almost the first time she had what 
she called a breathing spell. 

“ The name on the door-plate of the right-hand 
house is ‘ Short,’ ” said Constance, “ and there isn’t any 
door-plate or name on the house on the left hand.” 

“ The people who live there are named 4 Davis,* ” 
said Violet, with a knowing air. 

44 How do you know, Lettie ?” asked her mother. 

44 Because Ethel told me so. Her name’s Ethel 
Seymour Davis, and she’s six months older than I, 
but I’m half an inch taller. We measured this morning. 
She’s real pretty, and they have a perfectly lovely 
house. You ought to see her own room ; she has a 
mirror covered with favors — ribbons and bells and all 
sorts of pretty things, which she has got at dancing- 
school. I guess she’s a tremendous favorite. She 
means to ask her mother to let me join her dancing- 
class. Wouldn’t that be splendid, mother ?” 

44 You seem to have made friends fast.” 

44 Oh, we did,” she continued, without regard to her 


The Change of Front . 


35 


mother’s smile. “ She told me all about herself. 
They’ve lived in their present house about a year, and 
she and her brother are the only children. He’s pre- 
paring for college, and his name is Randolph. He’ll be 
in Ben’s class. She isn’t coming out for three winters, 
but her father has promised to have a birthday-party 
for her when she’s sixteen, which will be in February, 
and she thinks she’ll ask me. I told her I thought 
you’d let me go, mother. Ethel says there’ll be other 
girls there only fifteen. Can I, mother?” 

“ When the invitation comes, we’ll see, my dear.” 

“ I suppose she’s your best friend now, Lettie,” 
remarked Ben, who had been lured from his book by 
the conversation. 

Violet had the reputation of forming desperate intim- 
acies, which were apt to cool, after a time, almost as 
rapidly. 

“I am sure I shall like her. very much,” she replied, 
imperturbably. “We introduced ourselves to each 
other this morning, over the railing between the grass 
plots, and she invited me to come over to her side.” 

“ By the way,” said Ben, “ I met Percy White in the 
street to-day, and he says he’s coming to see us. He 
lives only a block or two off, in the next street.” 

“ Well, we shall be glad to see him again,” said Mrs. 
Carleton. 

She had taken a decided fancy to Percy during the few 
weeks he had spent at his uncle’s house at Hampton, 
and she gave him a cordial welcome when he appeared, 
a day or two later, in keeping with his promise. 

Percy was a pleasant-looking, gracious young fellow, 
a few months older than Bill. His father, the Honor- 


36 


The Carle tons. 


able Gregory White, had lost a leg, before he was 
twenty-one, by an explosion. Incapacitated by his 
wooden leg for active service in the War, he had shown 
himself public-spirited and generous when occasion 
offered, by liberal subscriptions, and, lately, an admir- 
ing constituency had sent him to Congress. He was a 
large, commanding-looking, florid man, with a sonorous, 
persuasive voice and winning smile, which accounted for 
his son’s engaging manners. 

Percy seemed glad to see them all again, and was 
able to enlighten them as to a variety of matters, includ- 
ing their neighbors. He described the Davises as out- 
and-out swells ; genuine upper-crust, he called them. 
Randolph, or Ranny, was in the class below him at the 
same school, and rather a “ sissy , ” but a gentlemanly 
fellow. The Shorts, on the other side, were a quiet 
couple, whom no one saw much of, though they had a 
house full of pretty things, for they weren’t exactly in 
society. Mr. Short’s father had made a pot of money 
out of patent-medicines. 

“ My father used to know him when he drove a 
peddler’s wagon out West,” Percy explained. 

Percy ran on fluently and graphically, imparting 
information and his views on a variety of topics, now 
and again fingering the light cane he carried. He was 
sprucely dressed for visiting, in a well fitting black coat, 
with a standing collar and variegated neck-tie, and had 
quite a manly as well as trig appearance. While Mrs. 
Carleton, Ben and Violet were evidently diverted by 
what he was saying, Constance sat tongue-tied and in 
awkward silence, merely answering the questions 
which he occasionally addressed to her, while Bill 


The Change of Front. 


37 


regarded him with a morose expression that was almost 
contemptuous, with his eyes riveted on the cane. Per- 
haps Percy noticed this, for he presently said : 

“ I suppose it’s awfully cheeky for a Sub-freshman to be 
carrying a cane, but I like to have something in my hand. 
And I mean to carry it next year, Sophs or no Sophs. 
I shall be a Soph when you’re a Freshy, Ben, and you’ll 
have to toe the line.” 

He was full of enthusiasm as to going to college, and 
had recently been off to engage a room, the furniture 
of which he was to choose himself. After finishing 
college, he was to go abroad for a year or so before 
getting his nose down to the grindstone, as he des- 
cribed it. 

When he had taken his leave, Violet pronounced him 
“ awfully attractive,” and Ben styled him “ a pretty smart 
fellow.” 

“ He may be smart,” said Bill, “ but he puts on 
tremendous airs. I hope the Sophomores will give it 
to him when he gets in.” 

Constance said nothing at the moment, but she 
and Bill talked him over later, and came to the con- 
clusion that he didn’t amount to much. 



CHAPTER IV. 

BILL SNATCHES VICTORY FROM THE JAWS OF DEFEAT. 

Bill was now the proud occupant of an office-stool in 
his father’s counting-room. There were four other 
clerks beside his father and Mr. Hazard. He copied 
invoices, ran errands, wound up the clock, and made 
himself generally useful. The old head-clerk, in spare 
moments, gave him lessons in book-keeping. In the 
middle of the day he had a half-hour to go out for 
dinner, which he took sometimes at one restaurant, 
sometimes at another. In consequence, he felt that he 
had come to man’s estate, and that there was a wide 
gulf of information and knowledge of the world 
between him and his brothers and sisters. He had con- 
ceived at once an immense admiration for the head- 
clerk, Mr Sanborn, who seemed to him a model for a 
business man to imitate. 

Mr. Sanborn was a pattern of punctuality, and all his 
actions were regulated by a hunter watch which kept 
perfect time. He knew precisely how much it ought to 
vary in every six months, and could recount the precise 
history of its behavior during the fifteen years he had 
carried it. The watch was of gold, but the chain was a 
black ribbon, which was in harmony with the general 



Bill Snatches Victory from Defeat, 39 


sobriety of his appearance. He entered the office at 
precisely half -past eight every morning, and left it at 
precisely half-past five to go home. At precisely half- 
past twelve he left whatever he was doing to eat his 
dinner, which he brought with him in a tin box, and 
which he ate with the greatest deliberation. After it 
was finished, he washed his hands and read the news- 
paper for just a quarter of an hour. He was never in a 
hurry, and the ledgers and journals over which he pored 
were flawless ; without erasures or interlineations. As 
soon as he entered the office, he exchanged his coat for 
a faded fustian jacket, that never seemed to grow any 
worse-looking. He was a bachelor, now nearly sixty- 
five, and his chief interest in life, apart from the affairs 
of Carleton & Hazard, so far as the clerks who served 
under him knew, was his gold watch. 

The example of Mr. Sanborn affected Bill powerfully, 
though he was naturally more or less deliberate and 
methodical. He endeavored to be punctual and steady 
in his turn ; never to be late in arriving at the office, and 
to be systematic in performing his work. He kept an 
old jacket in the cupboard so as to save his clothes, and 
on the section allotted to him of the long desk at which 
the clerks sat on high stools, his pens and pencil and 
eraser and ruler and bottle of red ink had each its par- 
ticular place, and were always in condition for use. Mr 
Sanborn was delighted with his pupil, and prophesied 
that he would make a successful merchant ; and Bill’s 
sense of importance was still further magnified, when 
his father at the end of six months made him a present 
of a silver watch, a huge, old-fashioned one that he had 
carried tor many years. A new platinum chain, that 


40 


The Carletons . 


looked enough like silver to be taken for it, accompanied 
the venerable time-piece as a present from his mother, 
and after Constance had manufactured a shammy case 
for him, Bill felt that he was fairly established in the 
business community. 

The only cloud upon his horizon at the moment was 
dancing-school, which he had to attend once a week. 
Mrs. Davis, the next-door neighbor, had called a day or 
two after her daughter’s conversation with Violet, and 
invited the Carleton children to attend Professor 
Bosenta’s dancing class. Violet was the only one of the 
four eager to go, and it was she whom her mother felt 
compelled finally to keep at home, on account of the 
expense. Mrs. Carleton argued that Constance and Bill 
ought to be sent at once, if they were ever to go, and as 
Ben had but one more year at home before going to col- 
lege, it seemed wise to send him also. 

The class was a select one. Indeed Mrs. Davis con- 
sidered that she had acted very handsomely in making 
room for this family from the suburbs, whom nobody 
seemed to know very much about except the Gregory 
Whites. It was chiefly out of consideration for Mrs. 
White that she had admitted them, and as she scanned 
the trio who appeared on the opening day she did not 
feel sure that she had not made a mistake. She had 
expected that Violet, who had struck her as likely to 
become a favorite, would attend. Instead, here were 
these two gawky boys, and a girl who, though pretty 
enough, was evidently retiring, and, if not precisely 
gawky, too, not over well-dressed. 

This was not exactly the novitiate of any of the three, 
for a year or two before they had learned their steps 


Bill Snatches Victory from Defeat . 41 


and the rudiments of various dances from a teacher who 
visited Hampton once a week ; but they were undeni- 
ably rusty, especially Bill. Constance could waltz tol- 
erably well, and Ben, though awkward at first, soon 
caught the step and began to enjoy himself. Bill, how- 
ever, even after half-a-dozen lessons, hobbled and halted 
in a fashion that was not only mortifying to him, but 
sorely tried the patience of the dancing-master. More- 
over, he was excessively shy as regards girls. In order 
to avoid taking a partner, he would slip out with one or 
two other kindred spirits into the dressing-room just 
before a dance, whenever they had the opportunity, 
which was, however, a very ostrich-like proceeding, for 
Professor Bosenta, who knew their habits, almost 
invariably peeped into this retreat before starting the 
dance, particularly if there were not boys enough to go 
round. Then the culprits had the mortification of being 
conducted across the floor before everybody, and sum- 
marily made to dance with the girls who were without 
partners. One day, however, Bill managed to conceal 
himself behind the door of the ante-room in such a 
manner as to escape detection when the professor dis- 
covered his companions. He heard the door close, and 
presently the fiddle begin ; he was safe for this dance. 
He chuckled with delight at the thought of how cleverly 
he had outwitted “ old Bo,” as the master was nick- 
named, and sauntered about the dressing-room with 
his hands in his pockets, congratulating himself. He 
had no doubt that when the music ceased he would be 
lost in the crew of boys that was sure to come pour- 
ing in. 

All went at first as he expected. The moment after 


42 


The Carletons. 


the fiddle stopped, the dressing-room was full, and he 
had the satisfaction of recounting his exploit to an inter- 
ested audience ; after which, at what he judged to be a 
favorable moment, he sauntered back nonchalantly into 
the hall. 

It chanced that the professor was standing close by 
the door. Bill instinctively dodged back, but too late 
to avoid notice. Had he advanced boldly, he would, 
doubtless, have escaped, but the guilty start reminded 
the dancing-master that he had been absent during the 
dance ; at a time, too, when there had been several girls 
left over. With a quick movement, the professor 
stepped forward and caught the culprit by the arm, 
then rapped attention with his bow on the back of his 
fiddle. Everybody stopped talking and looked. 

“ Where have you been, Master William Carleton ?” 
he asked, in his precise foreign accent. 

Bill gave a sickly sort of smile, and answered faintly : 

“ In the dressing-room.” 

The master, who was evidently angry, surveyed him 
for a moment, then exclaimed with glib irony : 

“ You are very fond of the young ladees, I believe ?” 

The culprit, uncertain how to meet this method of 
attack, looked merely shame-faced and then down at his 
pumps, without reply. 

“ Come with me, sir,” the professor continued. 

So saying, he took Bill by the sleeve and conducted 
him, amid loud tittering, across the floor to the side of 
the room where the girls sat. On one bench there 
happened to be six of them side by side. 

“ Young ladees,” said he, mockingly, “ Master William 


Bill Snatches Victory from Defeat . 43 


Carleton is very anxious to sit with you. Can you make 
a place for him ?” 

The girls giggled, and there was a general laugh. 
Red as a peony, Bill took the seat made for him on the 
bench. He felt that every eye in the room was fixed on 
him, as indeed every eye was. He did not know where 
to look. Then, in his desperation, he returned the 
universal gaze of merriment with a fierce stare, which 
was not modified even when it met his sister’s pitying, 
sympathetic glance. His only consolation was that his 
mother was not there to see him made a fool of. 

Suddenly one of the girls beside him let fall her fan. 
He had resolutely up to this moment ignored the exist- 
ence of the entire six, who, strong in their superiority of 
numbers, had continued to giggle and whisper. For a 
single instant he hesitated, then, in spite of himself, he 
bobbed down to pick it up. As he did so, the girl 
stooped also, and their heads collided. 

“ Excuse me,” he muttered, almost savagely. 

“ It was my fault,” was the conclusive reply. 

Everybody was laughing again, and Bill felt himself 
blushing more deeply than ever, yet he felt constrained 
to blurt out : 

“ Not at all.” 

“ Thank you very much, Mr. Carleton,” said the young 
lady as she received the fan. Forced to look at her, he 
perceived that she was no other than Ethel Davis, whose 
acquaintance hitherto he had avoided making. 

“ Don’t mention it,” he grunted ; but the ice was 
broken, for he saw..fit to add, with a little more gracious- 
ness : “ I hope I didn’t hurt you.” 

“ Not a bit,” said Ethel ; and then she remarked, in 


44 


The Carle tons. 


her turn : “ We’re neighbors, aren’t we, Mr. Carleton ? 
I think I see you in the mornings going down to your 
business, and I know your sister.” 

“ Oh, yes,” said Bill. 

Here there was a pause, and while he was thinking 
what else he could say, Percy White came up and asked 
the young lady in question for the pleasure of a waltz, 
and a few moments later, the Professor gave Bill permis- 
sion to go back to his own side of the room. Despite his 
mortification, somehow he felt secretly pleased with him- 
self. Apart from his sisters, he had never before said 
so much to any girl in his life, and he secretly reflected 
that it was not so very terrible after all, and he even 
went so far as to conclude, that for a beginning, he had 
not acquitted himself badly. 




CHAPTER V. 

THE NEW ENVIRONMENT. 

While Bill was learning the rudiments of business at 
his father’s office, Ben was pegging away at his studies 
preparing for college. Ben was at this time rather a 
raw-boned looking youth, tall and straggling as a young 
poplar, but wide-awake and quick-witted. t His new 
master, who found him a little behind some of the boys 
of his age in knowledge of the requisites for entering 
college, was surprised at the facility with which he was 
catching up. 

Every evening after tea, as soon as the things were 
cleared away, Ben and Constance and Violet sat down 
at the table in the dining-room to prepare their lessons 
for the next day. Their parents sat in the parlor up- 
stairs with the door shut, in order that Bill’s thrumming 
on the piano might not be too audible. Bill insisted, 
now that he was a hard-working business man, that he 
should be exempt from studying in the evenings, but he 
had consented by way of compromise to devote them to 
practicing. He had conceived the idea of learning to 
play on the piano, and was taking lessons two afternoons 
in the week, for which purpose he was let off from the 
office half an hour earlier. Although anxious to learn, 


4 6 


The Carletons . 


and therefore painstaking and persistent, he had little 
ear for music ; consequently his labored repetition of 
the same piece over and over again palled somewhat 
on his sisters, who were tolerably proficient on the 
piano, and likewise upon Ben, who, though he had never 
taken lessons, had a natural ear and could generally 
pick out an air merely from having heard it whistled. 

Each of the trio in the dining-room had a regular 
studying place at the table, and for the first three-quar- 
ters of an hour there was apt to be dead silence, except so 
far as attempts to commit to memory by reciting just 
above the breath was a violation of it. Both Constance 
and Violet were wont to adopt this method of clinching 
in their minds the lists or rules which they were given to 
learn. Violet, when she memorized thus, kept her eyes 
shut ; Constance kept hers open, and many were the 
discussions as to the merits of the respective systems. 

On the other hand, Ben could commit nothing to 
memory while sitting still. Whenever he wished to 
learn anything by rote he required to slip out into the 
hall and walk up and down until he knew it. All his 
lessons which depended on memory were learned in this 
way. It had grown out of a habit, which he had con- 
tracted as a little boy, of walking or rather running up 
and down on tip-toe with a card or book in his hand, 
apart by himself, and reciting in a whisper his experi- 
ences of characters of his own creation. He was accus- 
tomed to use the same card or book for this purpose 
until it was in holes from thumb-marks. Though these 
narrations were not confined to any one subject, he be- 
came especially fond of military affairs after the War 
broke out ; but his engagements on sea and land were 


The New E7ivironment % 


4 7 


not limited merely to the annihilation of the Confeder- 
ates ; his favorite generals made incursions into Great 
Britain and carried the Stars and Stripes into the re- 
motest limits of Africa, in a manner to make the most 
thorough-going patriot green with envy. Ben’s “ run- 
ning,” as it was called, was one of the accepted in- 
stitutions of the household, but as he was reserved and 
haughty when interrogated upon the subject, and be- 
came excessively angry if spied upon, he was rarely 
observed, and had never been actually overheard but 
once. That “ once,” however, which had been early in 
his career, had supplied the family a jewel of imagin- 
ation never to be forgotten, and one had only to utter 
“ the cat laid an egg ” to bring the blush to Ben’s cheek 
to this day. 

Ben usually finished his lesson first. When he had 
done so, he would close his lexicon with a bang, by way 
of announcing the fact, and that he was prepared for 
conversation or a game of some kind. If neither of his 
sisters were ready to join him, he would commonly 
amuse himself by drawing. He had the happy knack 
of being able to sketch in an off-hand fashion whatever 
struck his fancy. The fly-leaves and margins of his 
school-books were covered with all sorts of figures and 
devices. Though he was fond of drawing scenery and 
landscapes, when off tramping with Harrison Fay, his 
real forte was portraiture. He could hit off a likeness 
to the life, and so grotesquely, if he chose — and his 
inclination seemed to run that way — that one could not 
help laughing, while admitting that the resemblance 
was perfect. He had once perpetrated a sketch of 
Cousin Rebecca Hubbard, which, in the estimation of 


48 


The Carletons. 


the family, would hopelessly ruin his chances of a 
legacy, should that lady ever get a glimpse of it. 

In spite of the fact that he was thus perpetually decor- 
ating scraps of paper, Ben’s talent had never been 
taken very seriously at home. They all recognized of 
course, that he had a certain faculty with his pencil, but 
it was looked upon as a pleasing knack, and very much 
as Bill’s proficiency in playing hockey on the ice was 
regarded. Nor had Ben, up to this time, made much 
account of it himself. It had been taken for granted, 
ever since they were little boys, that he was to be a 
lawyer and Bill a business man ; or, as his father once 
put it, Bill was to make the money, and Ben was to see 
to keeping it after it was made. Accordingly, when 
asked what he was going to be when he grew up, his 
habitual answer was : 

“ A lawyer, I guess.” 

Sometimes it happened, in the evenings, that when 
Ben gave his signal, only one of the girls had finished 
her lesson. In such cases, diversion, if indulged in at 
all, had to be muffled. But the one who had not fin- 
ished was more than apt to be Constance, because of 
the rule prescribed by her teacher that she must study 
an hour at home, whether she had learned her lessons 
before the completion of that time or not. She was 
required to sign a card every morning, stating that she 
had studied a full hour, and her conscience was kept 
continually on the rack by doubts as to whether she had 
really done so. She found it excessively hard to fix her 
mind on her lesson after it was learned, when Ben and 
Violet were whispering together; and, although she 
would put her hands over her ears to shut out what 


The New Environment. 


49 


they were saying, she had often terrible scruples as to 
whether she had actually studied at such moments, 
which resulted occasionally in her leaving the room and 
satisfying her conscience by a quarter of an hour’s extra 
work apart by herself. In order to keep the run of 
time precisely, she always had her mother’s watch by 
her side, and rigorously excluded from her hour all the 
minutes wasted by interruptions of any kind. 

It was not altogether unnatural that Ben and Violet, 
whose home-study was regulated by no such rule, 
should amuse themselves sometimes at her expense. 
They would allude to matters which they knew would 
interest her, speaking just loud enough to be heard, or 
Ben would call attention to some humorous sketch 
which he had made, often one of the unhappy victims 
herself in the throes of conscientiousness. Constance, 
in her turn, unable to refrain from smiling in spite of 
her best endeavor, would shut her ears and even her 
eyes in efforts to concentrate her attention on her book, 
until, perhaps overwhelmed by one of Violet’s explosive 
giggles, she would fly from the presence of her tor- 
mentors to the security of the hall or her own chamber. 

Constance was quite as much absorbed in her studies 
as Ben in his ; moreover, she was an omnivorous 
reader, so much so that her mother had to drive her 
out-doors in the afternoon to get her to take the proper 
amount of exercise. She had been given the first 
choice of chambers, and, after careful deliberation, had 
selected as hers one in the top of the house, a large, 
sunny room at the back, looking out, thanks to a gap in 
the block behind afforded by a grass plot and miniature 
garden, toward the west, where the sun went down 


50 


The Carle tons. 


every night behind picturesque hills. Here she had 
supplemented her dearest possessions brought from 
Highlands with others that were growing precious. 
Indeed, though fickleness was abhorrent to her nature, 
she had already remanded many of her past belongings 
to the closet as out of keeping with the general elegance 
of her new apartment. “ Duds ” and “ truck ” they had 
been stigmatized by Sophia, the old family nurse, now 
rather a confidential friend of the household than a 
servant, who, if she could have had her way would have 
whisked into the fire the entire collection of relics, pine- 
cones, birds’ feathers, pressed wild-flowers, ornamented 
texts, ferns and numerous other pet reminders of her 
childhood, which Constance had insisted on bringing 
into town with her. 

“ They’re only fit for breeding moths and collecting 
dust,” had been Sophia’s withering verdict when the 
question first arose as to where they were to go ; and, 
little by little, Constance had consented to the dis- 
appearance of most of them, reserving only the right to 
choose between the store-closet in the attic and the ash- 
barrel. 

Her room was certainly a very livable spot. The 
sun in winter-time beat in there so warmly that Con- 
stance would wrap herself in a rug on the lounge and 
throw open the sash on a fine, frosty morning when the 
snow was on the ground and be able to read without 
discomfort. This lounge stood within reaching distance 
of the little book-case where her library was collected, 
all the books she had ever received since she was old 
enough to care for them. In addition to her library, 
and next to it in her affections, there was an old- 


The New Environment. 


5i 


fashioned writing-desk which had been in the Fitch 
family for generations, and which she had been allowed 
to bring with her from the drawing-room at Highlands 
for her own use. It was a veritable antique piece of 
furniture, with brass claws’-feet and handles, full of 
pigeon-holes and queer accommodations. Sophia 
turned up her nose at it contemptuously as a very 
second-rate article compared with the cunning little 
secretary that had been bought for Violet ; and in 
response to the explanation that it was very old, 
remarked : 

“ Sure, Miss Constance, I’m thinking that everything 
in this house ought to be new.” 

It is wonderful what a little cleaning and polishing 
will do for a sound piece of furniture. Even the censo- 
ious Sophia had to admit, when the desk came back from 
the furniture dealer, that it looked better than she 
expected, and almost as good as new, if it weren’t for 
them claws that tear the carpet.” As for Constance, she 
was simply delighted, and felt that her sanctum, as Ben 
called it, was now complete. Into this desk went now 
her secret possessions ; her favorite extract book, a wisp 
of Bill’s hair when a baby and one of her own, a daguer- 
reotype of her grandfather Fitch, and — most sacred of 
all — her diary. She had kept a diary ever since she was 
twelve, and there were now four volumes. Here were 
recorded her doings and impressions from time to time, 
written as she was in the mood every few days, with an 
occasionally longer gap. Although her brothers and 
Violet had each in turn threatened to purloin these 
precious volumes, no mortal eye except the owner and 
compiler’s had ever rested on their contents. This 


52 


The Carletons. 


diary, as it were, took the place of an intimate friend to 
Constance. At Hampton there had been no girl of her 
own age in the neighborhood but Maud Logan, with 
whom she was not sympathetic ; so that she had been 
thrown back upon herself for companionship, especially 
since Violet, in addition to being younger, had interests 
of a different kind. It was partially in order that Con- 
stance might have the chance of meeting other girls that 
Mrs. Carleton had been anxious to move into town. 




CHAPTER VI. 

A MESSENGER IN TINSEL. 

One Saturday morning in the middle of the winter, on 
which, being a school holiday, as every Saturday was, 
Constance had stretched herself on the lounge in her 
room with a book she was absorbed in, there came a 
rat-tat-tat at the door, and in response to her permission 
to enter, a formal procession, headed by Ben, and con- 
sisting besides of Violet and Harold, marching in single 
file, advanced toward her. On the threshold behind 
them appeared Sophia, who had her apron up to her 
mouth to cloak a broad grin. Ben held out an impor- 
tant-looking envelope, which she took from him with the 
suspicion born of experience. 

It was addressed to Miss Constance Carleton, with the 
correct number of the house and street, and she noticed 
that around the borders of the envelope, which was 
unusually large, ran a sort of ornamental scroll. 

“ It's a valentine,” said Harold, gleefully, as she started 
to remove the colored wafer which served as a seal, 
“ Somebody left it at the door and ran. I heard him go 
down the steps, but I wasn't quick enough. The post- 



54 


The Carletons . 


man brought me this colored one. I guess I know who 
sent it, too. It was Lettie.” 

Whereupon he removed his hands from behind his 
back and exhibited a terrible looking daub that pur- 
ported to symbolize a monster of greediness, with an 
appropriate couplet beneath. 

“ Nonsense. Harold. It isn’t my hand-writing to 
begin with.” 

“ I guess you sent it, though. You might have got 
some one to write the address. No one else knew I eat 
the cake in my stocking on Christmas before morning,” 
he added, a little ruefully. 

“ It’s appropriate, anyway,” said Violet. 

In the meanwhile, Constance, who had colored vividly 
as the significance of the envelope was explained to her, 
had undone the seal, and, under eager scrutiny, taken a 
peep at the contents. 

“ Let’s see, Con,” exclaimed Violet on tip-toe. “It 
must be an awfully pretty one.” 

Constance drew back coyly, saying • 

“ I haven’t had a chance to look at it myself, yet.” 

“ * I pray you, pretty maid divine. 

Consent to be my valentine,’ ” 

chanted Ben, who had planted himself on the arm of 
the lounge, and was surveying Constance banteringly. 

“ Is that what it says ?” asked Harold. 

“It ought to say that or something like it. O-o-o !” 
Ben ejaculated admiringly, as Constance drew from its 
inclosure a gorgeous concatenation of tinsel filigree- 
work. 


A Messenger in Tinsel \ 


55 


“ How perfectly lovele-e,” sighed Violet. “ I wonder 
who sent it ? The postman brought me one, too, but I 
know Ethel sent it. She told me she was going to. 
Mine isn’t half so pretty as yours, Con.” 

As she spoke, she took a smaller envelope from her 
pocket, to show the comparison. The two were 
certainly not to be mentioned in the same breath. 
Violet’s was a pretty little card on which roses and a 
robin redbreast were not too inartistically blended 
above the incrip tion, “ A token of friendship.” But 
Constance’s was evidently intended to be the highest 
exemplification of the valentine-maker’s art. A wealth 
of glistening tinsel in imitation of lace formed the 
margin of a lake upon which two swans floated 
majestically ; and when the page was turned, the lake 
became a mirror set in a chaplet of roses with doves 
soaring among azure and saffron-tinted clouds over- 
head. 

“ How perfectly exquisite !” murmured Violet, with 
genuine enthusiasm. 

“ Puffectly exquisite !” mimicked Ben. “ It is pretty, 
though, and no mistake,” he assented, admiringly. 
“ What’s that written at the bottom ?” 

“ And I can see my face in the glass,” cried Harold, 
with delight. “ It’s a real one.” 

“ Of course it is, youngster. I say, Con, what is that 
written at the bottom ?” he repeated, as Constance, 
warned by his first inquiry, instinctively closed the 
page. 

“ Oh, yes, let’s see it,” said Violet, eagerly. 

Constance flushed, and shook her head. 

“ It’s mere doggerel,” she said. 


56 


The Carle tons. 


“ You were mighty quick in reading it, though. She 
must, Lettie, have looked at it before she looked at 
anything else. I guess she must know who sent it.” 

“ I haven’t the slightest idea who sent it, Ben.” 

“ Then why won’t you let us read what it says ?” 

“ Because I don’t care to,” answered Constance, after 
a moment’s hesitation. 

“ It must be something awfully sugary, Lettie.” 

“ She doesn’t know for certain that it was a boy who 
sent it. It may have been a girl,” said Violet, trying a 
different kind of shaft. 

“ It’s silly stuff, whoever sent it,” said Constance, dis- 
dainfully. 

“ I’ll bet ten to one it was a boy who sent it, and that 
I can name the boy !” cried Ben. “ Did you notice they 
were written and not printed ?” 

“ Then I forbid you to name him,” said Constance, 
drawing herself up with dignity. 

“ It was — ” Ben stopped and laughed. “ It was — ” 
He began again and stopped once more. There was the 
presage of tears in Constance’s eyes. 

“ Now, Mr. Ben, quit tormenting Miss Constance,” said 
Sophia. 

“ She doesn’t know who sent her valentine, and I was 
going to tell her,” replied Ben. “ That’s all.” 

“ That’s all, Sophia,” said Violet, with a giggle. 

“ And you’ve a sassy tongue, too, Miss Lettie, when 
you’ve a mind,” said the nurse, nodding her head. 

“ But I haven’t said a word,” protested Violet. “ What 
have I said ?” 

“ It isn’t always the saying that does the harm ; there’s 
looking and there’s listening and there’s laughing. Get 


A Messenger in Tinsel. 


57 


along with you now, all three, and leave my young lady 
alone;’ and, as she spoke, Sophia laid her hand upon the 
shoulders of Ben and Violet, and motioned Harold 
toward the door with a nudge from her knee. 

Ben shook himself loose, and began again, taunt- 
ingly : 

“ It was — ” but realizing from Constance’s expression 
that she would cry if he completed his sentence, he 
stopped short for the third time, and, thrusting his 
hands into his trousers’ pockets, after the fashion of his 
father, said : “ I don’t see the use of getting mad about 

it, Con. I guess it must be pretty serious if there’s so 
much mystery connected with it. Come on, Lettie, let’s 
leave her.” Thereupon he strode from the room, fol- 
lowed by the two others. 

Sophia remained a moment to play the part of com- 
forter to her young lady, who, though the nurse was 
devoted to them all, was her special favorite. 

“ I wouldn’t mind their rattle, if I were you, Miss Con- 
stance. They don’t mean nothing by it,” she began, as 
she flourished her feather duster over the mantel-piece. 

But Constance was in no mood to be communicative. 
She had thrown herself on the lounge, where she 
remained majestically silent, with her hands clasped 
under her head and her eyes fixed on the ceiling, in the 
teeth of this and one or two other remarks which Sophia 
let fall from her store of sympathy ; until the nurse, 
taking a hint that her presence was superfluous, gave a 
final dab at the wash-stand with the duster, and left the 
room, shutting the door, after her as requested, at the last 
moment, by her young lady. 

Constance lay in the same posture without moving 


58 


The Carletons. 


for several minutes. Now that the affair was over, she 
had begun to ask herself if she had not been too sensi- 
tive. As Ben had said, it was making a mystery out of 
nothing ; for what difference did it make who sent the 
valentine, or who any one thought sent it ? She ought 
to have taken the whole thing as a joke, instead of 
appearing disturbed. 

When she had thought this out, she picked up the 
source of her troubles, which had fallen upon the floor, 
and examined it carefully. While she had perceived 
before that the verses were written instead of printed, 
and had gathered in a general way their import, she 
had not really read them. As she did so now, a flush 
rose to her cheeks, and a look came into her face that 
was half a look of shame and half of pleasure, and when 
she had finished them, she gave a surreptitious glance 
over her shoulder, as though to make sure that no one 
had opened the door and was observing her unawares. 
The lines ran as follows : 

“ Maid with the big brown eyes 
And angel-like expression, 

You do not heed my sighs, 

But list to my confession : 

I know of no one half so sweet, 

Who walks beneath the sky ; 

And I will be your valentine 
Forever and for aye.” 

Who had sent it ? There was no signature, no clew 
of any kind as to the author on either the valentine 
itself or the envelope. Constance examined both 


A Messenger iu Tinsel, 


59 


minutely, in order to make sure, and flattered herself 
that she was completely in the dark so far as real, actual 
knowledge was concerned. Who could have sent it ? 
As Violet had suggested, it might have been another 
girl. But she had to admit, reluctantly, that the lines 
were scarcely of the style which one girl would have 
written to another. If any boy had written them, why 
had he written them, and who could he be / As she lay 
speculating thus, and playing hide-and-go-seek with her 
own secret consciousness that the chances were ninety 
and nine out of a hundred that only one particular boy 
had sent them, a faint flush still heightened her cheeks, 
and the look of mingled shame and satisfaction changed 
to a wistful, pensive gaze, that was not timid only 
because it was safe from scrutiny. She believed that 
she considered the verses very silly, and that she was 
rather angry with the sender, in case he were by chance 
the one she thought he might be ; and yet she detected 
herself, without much compunction, reading them over 
again more than once, and somehow, though she kept 
threatening to herself to throw the whole thing into the 
fire, she never did. 

Indeed, the morning slipped away almost without her 
knowledge, and she was roused to a realization of the 
hour only by Ben’s whistle, as he came upstairs. Con- 
stance heard him go into his room and shut the door. 
For a few moments she sat in irresolute discomfort, 
wrestling with herself. 

“ He’ll make dreadful fun of me,” she murmured 
with a shiver. 

Then, after another moment, she rose suddenly, and 
opening her door, crossed the entry-way with the 


6o 


The Carle tons. 


decided step of one who has reached a definite decision, 
and knocked on Ben’s door. She had the valentine in 
her hand, and as he confronted her, she held it out to 
him, saying: 

“ Here it is, Ben. I was foolish to make a fuss.” 

Ben received it mechanically ; then, realizing what 
she meant, he exclaimed, as he made way for her to 
enter : 

“ Oh ! that was all right, Con. We hadn’t any right to 
tease you, especially about anything private like that.” 

“ But it wasn’t private,” she protested, eagerly. “ I 
want you to read it.” 

“ Well, if you really want me to, of course I will,” he 
replied, hesitatingly. “ Only you mustn’t let me merely 
because I tried to get you to before.” 

“ No, that isn’t the reason at all,” she said, which was 
true enough, for her previous purpose had already been 
forgotten in her desire that Ben should not think she 
wished to harbor a secret of this sort. “They’re too 
silly for anything.” 

Ben read to the end with his quizzical smile without 
a word, while she sat watching him with much the same 
emotions with which one watches a dentist select his 
instrument of torture. 

u Why, 1 think they are very pretty,” he said, with 
evident sincerity. 

Here was a surprise. She, in her heart, thought them 
very pretty herself. 

“ Do you ?” she murmured. “ But they are so ridicu- 
lous.” 

“You must allow for poetic license, Con. Besides, a 
valentine is expected to be — er — complimentary, to say 


A Messenger in Tinsel, 


61 


the least. No, I think they’re just the thing. It must 
be rather nice to be able to write verses,” he added 
reflectively. “ I’d no idea that Perc — ” 

He stopped short as if he had been shot, suddenly 
realizing what he had said, and colored to the roots of 
his hair. Constance did the same, and as their eyes met 
they burst out laughing simultaneously. 

“ Excuse me, Con. I really didn’t mean to — upon my 
word I didn’t,” he protested. “ What an idiot I am.” 

“ I don’t mind in the least, Ben. Why should I ? Do 
you think he sent them ?” she added, shyly. 

“ Who ? Percy White ?” 

“ That was who you said, wasn’t it ?” 

“ I’d like to shoot myself. What’s said is said, I sup- 
pose. Yes, I’d an idea it was he, but I don’t know any- 
thing about it really.” 

11 I’d sort of an idea myself that it might be he, because 
— because there’s no one else who could, though I don’t 
know why he should have sent them, I’m sure.” 

Ben begged ten thousand more pardons, as he 
expressed it, for his clumsiness in letting the cat out of 
the bag, which Constance was willing to grant, and 
afterward they became so absorbed in talking about 
other matters that they failed to hear the dinner-bell 
and Sophia had to trudge puffing upstairs to notify them 
that their soup was cooling. It was not often that Con- 
stance paid Ben a visit. Indeed, as she looked round his 
room, she was ashamed to realize how little she knew 
of his life and tastes. All her intimacv had been with 
Bill, and although Ben’s room and his were side by 
side, she had to own to herself that she had scarcely 
been inside of it until to-day. There was certainly a 


62 


The Curie tons. 


great contrast between the two apartments. In Bill’s, 
as in her own, there was marked precision. Each chair 
had its particular place. The ornaments and pictures, 
all of which Bill had in his room at Highlands, were 
arranged symmetrically just as he wished them to remain, 
and Sophia had directions to readjust everything to a 
pot after sweeping, exactly as she found it. 

On the other hand, Ben’s room had almost the sem- 
blance of a museum, and to an eye used to precise 
effects, a disorderly museum. Over the door hung a 
horse -shoe which he had picked up on the road years 
before. An owl, an early gift from Harrison Fay, 
which, as Sophia constantly declared, was a standing 
invitation to moths, looked down from the book-case. 
Scattered over the table and bureau and mantel-piece 
was a conglomeration of birds’ nests, boxing-gloves, 
marbles, sketch-books, skates, a toy theatre, a postage 
stamp album, and sundry games of one kind or another, 
while in one comer stood an old double runner, several 
bats and hockeys, and a magic-lantern. On the walls 
was a variety of pictures, of which a few were old- 
fashioned prints of the sporting order, which he had 
rescued from Highlands, and the rest chiefly newspaper 
illustrations of considerable diversity. These he had 
pasted on card-board and arranged at random. A 
huge magenta handkerchief emblazoned with the flags 
of all nations covered a square in their midst at the side 
of his bed, over which his shot-gun was installed. 

While Bill was appreciative of the disadvantages of 
dust but disliked to have his things touched for the fear 
of their disarrangement, Ben constantly declared that 
he preferred dust, and that spick and span arrangement 


A Messenger in Tinsel \ 


63 


was all he dreaded. The efforts of Sophia to get him to 
reduce the number of his cherished possessions on the 
plea that it took an able-bodied woman all her time, as 
she expressed it, to look after them, had consequently 
been futile. 

“ It makes no difference to me if it is never dusted or 
swept,” he would say, “as long as you don’t come 
mousing round, Sophia, and putting things where I can’t 
find them.” 

Constance, while she and Ben chatted, made the tour 
of the room, inspecting the illustrations on the walls and 
his other belongings with genuine interest, asking now 
and again: “Oh, where did you get this, Ben?” or 
“ What is this, Ben ?” Among them were representa- 
tions of world-famous pictures or edifices or statues, 
many of them classical, which he had come across in 
his studies, and among them here and there was a copy 
of a sketch of his own, generally with a bit of comicality 
tucked in somewhere to relieve the seriousness, if it were 
not a purely humorous story. Such blendings of the 
sublime with the ridiculous, as for instance, putting the 
head of an Irishwoman smoking a pipe on the bust of 
the Venus de Milo, made poor Constance sigh, even 
though she might have to laugh in spite of herself. 

“ Oh, Ben,” she said, “ how can you ?” 

To her, to whom the serious import of beautiful things 
appealed so strongly, it seemed almost sacrilegious. 
And yet, when it came to talking about them, Ben 
seemed to her to be as well if not better posted than 
she ; more familiar with the artistic wonders of the 
world and more sure in his own mind as to why they were 
fine. It was quite a revelation to her to hear him dis- 


The Carle tons. 


64 


course regarding them, and she noticed that when he 
became absorbed in what he was saying he dropped his 
half -bantering tone and became imbued with a fervor 
of speech that was entrancing. 

“ How did you come to know about all these things, 
Ben ?” she inquired, as he finished a description of the 
chief difference between the principal orders of archi- 
tecture. 

“ Oh, I don't know. I’ve picked up a smattering here 
and there. My master at Hampton had cork models of 
some of the old Greek and Roman buildings and col- 
umns, and I’ve always been interested in that sort of 
thing, you know, and asked questions when I’ve got a 
chance.” 

Having shown her valentine to Ben, Constance found 
less difficulty in screwing up her courage to show it to 
the rest of the family. Though no one had seen him 
leave it, the opinion seemed general that Percy White 
must have been the sender. Mrs. Carleton smiled com- 
placently as she read the verses, and Violet was very much 
impressed by them. That Constance, without the 
slightest hint or encouragement, should have received 
an original poem couched in such highly flattering lan- 
guage, raised her sister decidedly in importance in Vio- 
let's eyes, and made her own valentine, which Ethel 
Davis had sent, appear very paltry and uninteresting. 
She thought to herself, there was all the difference 
between them between make-believe and real. Bill, to 
whom Constance displayed it privately when he came 
home from the office that evening, was inclined to 
take a much more serious view of the matter. In his 
capacity of eldest brother and business man to boot, he 












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A Messenger in Tinsel \ 


65 


was beginning to feel it incumbent upon him to look 
out for the family self-respect ; accordingly he knit his 
brows as he read, and inquired, with haughty gravity, 
when he had finished : 

“ Who dared send such a thing as that, Constance ?” 

“We don’t know at all,” she answered, faltering a lit- 
tle, and strongly impressed as she always was, by Bill’s 
utterances. She even began to ask herself why she had 
not continued angry with the sender, according to her 
first impulse. 

Bill noticed the “ we,” and asked sternly : 

“ Does mother know ?” 

“Yes. She didn’t seem to think there was any harm 
in it.” 

The remembrance of this was consoling. For, after 
all, she preferred not to be angry unless it were clearly 
her duty to be. 

Bill scrutinized the valentine disdainfully. 

“ Harm ? I’d rather cut my right hand off than send 
such a thing as that to a girl. I wish I knew who sent 
it ; I’d give him a piece of my mind. I guess I know, 
anyway, and I mean to find out for certain.” 

“ How ?” asked Constance, timorously. Great as was 
her confidence in her eldest brother’s wisdom, she 
instinctively shrank from his intervention in an affair 
of this kind. 

“No matter. I’ll find out, and when I do, I’ll punch 
his head,” he added, working himself up. 

“ But it may not be the one you think, Bill. Besides, 
er — er — it wasn’t meant~to be insulting, I feel sure.” 

He turned, and regarded ' ’ idignantly. 

“ Well, all I can say is ' .stonished at you, Con- 


66 


The Carle tons. 


stance. Here I am ready to protect you, and go for a 
fellow who has seen fit to he disrespectful to you, and 
yet in the same breath you begin to defend him. Just 
like a woman. Oh, well,” he continued, tossing the val- 
entine on the table, “ go your own way. Perhaps you 
won’t be so ready to stand up for Percy White when you 
know him as well as I do.” 

“You don’t even know that Percy White sent it,” she 
answered, with a quiver, but making an effort to con- 
trol herself. 

“ I guess there’s no doubt about it. It’s easy to see 
through a mill-stone with a hole in it.” 

“ Oh, Bill, how can you ?” she burst out, then she gave 
a great sob, and the tears began to come. “ How can 
you when — when you know how fond I am of you, and 
— and how much I wish to please you. What have I 
done ? How could I help it ? I don’t care a straw 
about Percy White, and if you’d rather not — that is, if 
you know anything against him — 111 never see him 
again. Only — only you ought to be just, and not say I 
was defending him, because I simply said he — or who- 
ever wrote them — didn’t mean anything insulting. It’s 
not fair, and you’ve no right to say it.” 

To have angered Constance was a novelty for Bill ; 
so was an accusation of injustice, especially one 
emanating from her. He looked uncomfortable, and, 
though his manner was still stuffy, he said in a softened, 
tone : 

“ Well, I misunderstood you, then. I was only advis- 
ing you for what I thought your good, Con.” 

“ I know that was what you meant,” she answered, 
convulsively, but showing by her effort to smile, that 


A Messenger tn Tinsel \ 


67 


she was only too ready to exonerate him. “ It is foolish 
of me to cry ; but — but I couldn’t bear to have you 
think me un — unmaidenly, when you know I abhor any- 
thing of the kind.” 

“ Of course ; I know you do. I didn’t mean that ; I 
didn’t really,” and Bill, as he spoke, put his arm about 
her affectionately, and patted her shoulder. 

This was more than an ample atonement in Con- 
stance’s eyes, and she put up her face to kiss him with 
a loving look. Bill was conscious of having said all that 
could fairly be expected of him, without at the same 
time altering his attitude toward either the valentine or 
the sender. 

Perhaps Constance felt a desire to yield something on 
her part, for she said, presently, with decision : 

“ The best thing for me to do is to let Percy White 
understand once for all that I don’t care to see him. 
I’m sure it’s enough for me, Bill, that you know things 
against him.” 

Bill shifted his feet uneasily. His sense of justice 
was again called in question, and this time he himself 
was the accuser. 

“ He has too many frills for me, as I’ve said before,” 
he answered ; “ and I don’t believe he amounts to 
much, anyway. I only said, though, that when you 
knew him as well as I did, you wouldn’t be so ready 
to stand up for him. That isn’t saying I know things 
against him — things you can mention and count on your 
fingers ; because,” he blurted, “ I don’t.” 

“ Oh !” said Constance, a little doubtfully, showing 
that she did not quite grasp his meaning. 

“ It isn’t necessary, though, for a man to steal or forge 


68 


The Carle tons. 


before you deem him an undesirable person to — to see 
much of your sister,” he continued, with a judicial man- 
ner. “ What can a girl tell about a man, anyway ? I 
think a brother is in duty bound to caution his sisters 
against fellows he doesn’t fancy. He’s too flippant ; 
yes, flippant ; that’s the word exactly to describe him. 
If you ask me to name particular acts, I can’t, on the 
spur of the moment ; but any one can see he’s too 
flippant. For instance,” he added, with a haughty 
frown, “he called my watch, to-day, a turnip. He 
came up as I was comparing it with the chronometer in 
Fern’s, the jeweler, and said : ‘ Holloa, Bill ! where did 
you get that old turnip ?’ ” 

“ Really ! What did you say ?” 

“ I said to him that it had once belonged to my 
father, who had carried it for a great many years. 
That ought to have shut him up, if he’d had any 
decency about him ; but he answered : * I should say, 
from the look of it, that it must have belonged to Noah.’ 
I felt like pasting him ; but you can’t hit a fellow nowa- 
days without attracting a crowd. Turnip, indeed ! I’d 
a deuced sight rather have mine any day than the 
flimsy little thing he carries !” 

Whereupon, Bill drew out his timepiece and began to 
polish it affectionately. Constance looked grave. 

“ He oughtn’t to have said such a thing,” she said. 
“No wonder you were angry.” 

“ Angry ?” echoed Bill ; and then, remembering that 
he had admitted as much, he continued : “ The 

moment I had time to think, though, I realized that it 
made no difference to me what he said.” Then, after 
a pause, Bill added : “ I don’t wish you to suppose for 


A Messenger in Tinsel. 


69 


a minute, Constance, that his saying so had anything to 
do with forming my opinion of him. IVe thought him 
flippant from the first ; you must admit that.” 

“ Yes ; you’ve never fancied him much. And I know 
you wouldn’t let such a thing as that influence you, 
though I think it was very disagreeable of him.” 

This was the answer which Constance made ; but, 
though she valued highly her eldest brother’s judgment 
in all matters, perhaps she was relieved to find that the 
charges against her admirer were not of a more serious 
and defined character. 




CHAPTER VII. 

VIOLET. 

“ That Mrs. Davis thinks herself some pumpkins,” 
said Mr. Carleton one day, as he watched the lady of the 
house next door sail majestically across the sidewalk 
into her carriage. 

“ What an expression, my dear !” said his wife, who 
was knitting close at hand, and who raised her eyes 
instinctively to take a look. But as the children ran for- 
ward to have a peep also, she motioned them back, 
exclaiming : “ Ben ! Harold ! Violet ! Go away. 

What would she think if she saw you staring at her ?” 

“A cat may look at a king,” said John Carleton, but 
nevertheless he enforced obedience by withdrawing into 
the background himself. 

There were certain matters now in which he yielded 
to his wife’s judgment implicitly, though generally not 
without some satirical observation by way of protest in 
the act of yielding, in order to show how foolish or arti- 
ficial he thought the custom or observance. Still, it had 
not taken him long to perceive after moving into town 
that he had moved into a new social atmosphere which 
was trying, to say the least, to a plain man like himself. 
In the country he had been his own master, and had 


Violet . 


7i 


done pretty much as he pleased in all matters without 
criticism, and hence under a self-congratulatory impres- 
sion that he knew and did habitually what was what, 
and that, barring a few convenient habits in which he 
chose to indulge in the bosom of his family, and which 
were permissible to a plain man, he was adapted to shine 
in any society. 

Although he grumbled considerably, and professed to 
make fun of the instructions given him, J ohn Carleton 
was secretly pleased and proud at the social progress of 
his family ; for while he was not yet ready to admit that 
he was second to any man in the honor and courtliness 
of soul which make up a gentleman, his eyes had become 
suddenly opened to the fact that he had much to learn 
concerning the ways of polite society, and that his ambi- 
tion for his boys would no longer be satisfied were they 
to grow up to be merely plain men like himself. At the 
same time while he made every effort to correct his own 
deficiencies, he had gradually despaired of doing so 
effectually, and had come to content himself with the 
conclusion that he would devote his energies to provid- 
ing the necessary pecuniary means to enable his children 
to take advantage of the various opportunities for culture 
offered them. He would continue to the end the plain 
business man, and his boys and girls should reap the 
fruit of his industry in the shape of improved manners 
and a better education. 

His wife, on the other hand, who had urged their re- 
moval from the country with an eye to these very op- 
portunities, was exercising her wits in feeling a way 
for the family, with a vivid sense as to how important 
it was that they should get a good start. It made her 


7 * 


The Carle tons. 


feel almost ashamed of herself that she should be so 
pleased at the intimacy which had sprung up between 
Violet and Ethel Davis ; and yet it was undeniably 
gratifying to her, although she recognized that there 
was much homely truth in her husband’s remark that 
Mamma Davis “thought herself some pumpkins.” But 
then she felt that her husband did not appreciate as she 
did what a difficult matter it was for a family from the 
country to make the right sort of acquaintances ; and, 
whatever else might be said of the Davises, they were 
known to be very exclusive, and to be sanctioned by 
them was equivalent to an endorsement of respecta- 
bility. Not that Mrs. Carle ton felt that she could 
claim exactly, as yet, that the family was sanctioned. 
“ Tolerated ” was, perhaps, a better word ; for beyond a 
formal call from Mrs. Davis to convey an invitation to 
the dancing-class, which Mrs. Carleton had returned 
without finding her neighbor at home, the parents of 
neither household had met. But at least no impediment 
had been thrown in the way of the friendship that had 
originated between Violet and the daughter of the 
house — a friendship, however, which caused conflicting 
emotions to Mrs. Carleton — emotions of satisfaction at 
the refining tendencies which promised to result from 
it, and of uneasiness at the worldly interests and tastes 
which, existing already in embryo, seemed likely to be fos- 
tered rather than discountenanced thereby. Six months 
of intercourse with Ethel had already worked a desir- 
able change in Violet’s ideas on many points. For in- 
stance, she no longer craved the garish colors and start- 
ling combinations which she had been led by Maud 
Logan to believe appropriate to a girl of fifteen. The 


Violet. 


73 


uniform appearance of her new friend in the plainest 
of attire had gradually made clear to her that, until she 
was grown up, the more simply and quietly a young girl 
dressed the better. So, too, she had reduced the pro- 
portions of her bang, acquired an inclination to restrain 
herself from trying to attract notice and learned to tone 
down her hoydenish characteristics in general. 

She and Ethel had become inseparable. They walked 
together and they talked together day in'and day out, with- 
out ever seeming to exhaust each other’s society. Violet 
told everything to Ethel and Ethel told everything to 
Violet without reservation, and if either promised to 
keep a secret, she always mentally made an exception 
in favor of her best friend, on the plea that it was 
merely sharing it with her other self. Ethel found 
Violet original and diverting, and, if possible, more full 
of energy and spirit than herself. 

“ Most of the girls are so languid and namby-pamby,” 
she once confided to her. “ They’re afraid to call their 
souls their own, and so they pretend all the time. I 
hate hypocrisy, and I can see you do, Lettie. That’s 
what first made me take a fancy to you, dear. Why, by 
the way, do you let them go on calling you * Lettie ?’ I 
abominate nick-names ; unless, of course, they’re very 
fetching and unusual ; and I’m sure yours isn’t, and 
‘ Violet ’ is such a lovely name, too. ‘ Miss Violet Carle- 
ton ’ has quite a distinguished sound. If I were you, I’d 
insist on being called by it.” 

“ I’ve always detested ‘ Lettie,’ anyway,” answered 
Violet, to whom the suggestion appealed instanter. 

“But what I began to say, dear,” continued Miss 
Ethel, “ was that I don’t believe in pretending to like 


74 


The Carle tons 


things when you don’t, and in making yourself different 
than you really are. There’s a girl at our school who 
says she enjoys Shakespeare’s plays more than any other 
kind of reading. Mamma says I ought to, too, but I 
don’t. I’ve tried, and I can’t. Do you know, Lettie — 
Violet, I mean, excuse me dearest — I just loathe Shakes- 
peare,” she uttered, in a confidential whisper. “ There, 
it’s out now. I loathe him. Mamma says it’s because 
I’m too much interested in parties and in coming out,” 
she added, “and that a girl of my age oughtn’t to think 
anything about society or young men until she’s eighteen. 
I’m just tired of trying not to. Won’t it be fun, Vio- 
let ? Papa has promised me a large ball, and he always 
keeps his word. I do hope I’ll have a splendid time. 
You must make your mother let you come out then, 
too. You’ll be just eighteen — only six months younger ; 
and half my pleasure would be spoiled, you know, if you 
waited. What a pity it is for you,” she said, despairingly, 
“ that your sister and you couldn’t change places. I 
suppose she’ll come out next winter ?” 

“ No ; not until winter after. And I doubt if she’ll 
care for it anyway.” 

“ She’s perfectly lovely, I think,” said Ethel, politely. 
“ But she’s quiet ; isn’t she ?” 

“ Yes, rather.” 

“ I dare say, though, she’ll be married before either 
you or I. That’s the way it often happens, I’ve heard. 
The quiet girls are apt to be married first. I’m some- 
times haunted by the idea that I may die an old maid.” 

“ Then we’ll keep each other company ; for I shall, I 
know,” answered Violet. 


Violet. 


75 


“If we are old maids, we’ll live together anyhow,” 
pursued Ethel, ecstatically. “ Polly want a cracker ?” 

“ Don’t, Ethel ; you remind me of Cousin Rebecca 
Hubbard. She has two parrots and a Skye terrier.” 

“ She’s your rich relative, isn’t she ?” 

“ Yes. I’ve often wondered if she ever had an offer. 
I think she must have been crossed in love. She has a 
look as though she might have been.” 

“ Poor old thing I” said Ethel. 

In personal appearance Ethel was quite unlike Violet. 
She was a trig-looking blonde, with regular features, 
blue eyes, exquisite complexion, and wavy, light hair. 
She was in the habit of saying, regarding herself, that 
she looked like a wax doll, which was inadequate ; for 
while she possessed all the daintiness of a marionette, such 
a description made no account of her animation and air 
of distinction, which enhanced her beauty materially. 
She was decidedly contemptuous herself, however, as to 
her own attractions, and chiefly because of her moderate 
height. 

“ If I were only an inch and a half taller, I should do 
very well,” she would say with a sigh, as she squared 
herself before the mirror with the same patrician air 
that had prompted Mr. Carleton to criticise her mother. 

“ But you haven’t stopped growing yet.” 

“ That’s very kind of you to suggest, Violet, darling, 
but I know better. I’m like papa in figure, and I shall 
never be any taller ;“and the worst of it is, I have 
mamma’s coloring and everything but her height. I 
shall be known as ‘ dumpy Davis,’ and all because of a 
paltry inch and a half.” 

What Ethel really meant was that an extra inch or 


7 6 


The Carletons . 


two would have made her a splendid beauty. As it was, 
she was by no means short ; but her handsome face 
and aristocratic mien demanded a commanding stature. 

She admired Violet, because she was so tall and 
large. 

“ If I had your figure,” she once said to her, “ I’d — 
I’d — What wouldn’t I do !” 

Violet laughed, as though this were a jest not worth 
regarding, but she was pleased, nevertheless ; for, 
what with constant reproof on the score of hoydenish 
manners from her mother, and humorous allusions to her 
gawkiness and her big feet and hands, by her father she 
had grown up with a very humble estimate of her own 
attractions. She was gratified, therefore, to have so 
capable a critic as Ethel announce that she had good 
points. She herself had noticed, for one thing, that in 
growing tall she had lost undue buxomness. She was 
straight as an arrow, and her frame was well pro- 
portioned. She was vaguely conscious, when looking 
at herself attentively in the glass, after her return from 
Ethel’s birthday party — a proceeding she had never 
indulged in before, and which made her feel a little 
guilty at first — that if somehow her nose and her mouth 
and her ears could be induced, so to speak, to draw 
themselves in a fraction, she might be almost good- 
looking . 



CHAPTER VIII. 

PERCY, RANDOLPH, BILL : THESE THREE. 

It so happened that on the following afternoon, Ethel 
remarked to her as they were strolling together : 

“ By the way, I have a compliment for you, Violet. 
That is, I should consider it a compliment. My brother 
Randolph said last night, after you were gone, that he 
shouldn’t wonder if you were going to turn out a second 
case of the ugly duckling. That’s high praise for 
Randolph. A back-handed compliment is all any one 
can expect from him. He picks girls to pieces as a 
rule. I think it was a very clever description of you,” she 
added, glancing at her companion. “ You’re growing 
better-looking every day.” 

The compliment was, indeed, back-handed, but agree- 
able, nevertheless, for Violet did not need to be told 
that she was plain at present. All her hopes lay in the 
future, and the suggestion that she might some day, in 
spite of her big feet-and hands and nose and mouth, 
develop into a swan, made her blush painfully, and 
confused her so that she had nothing to say — two 
experiences which were very rarely hers. 

Although Percy White had termed Randolph Davis a 



78 


The Carletons. 


“sissy,” no one could deny that he was a handsome boy. 
Unlike his sister he promised to be tall. At present, 
he was slim and slight, with a suspicion of down on his 
upper lip. He had, however, beautiful dark eyes, 
chestnut hair which curled close to his head, and the 
same air of distinction which characterized the rest of 
his family, and which in his case was slightly indolent. 
He was considered to be the living likeness of his uncle 
Clarence Randolph, a brother of his mother, who had 
died in early manhood and was habitually referred to, 
by those who remembered him, as a raving beauty. 
Although, as Ethel had intimated, he was rather dis- 
dainful of the fair sex, Randolph was a great favorite 
at dancing-school, and any girl of whom he took notice 
was apt to be all in a flutter. He danced very well, 
was very graceful in his movements, and confined his 
attentions to a select few of the maidens who belonged 
to the class. That she had been noticed to the extent 
of being likened to the ugly duckling, could not fail 
therefore to be treasured up by Violet. 

By the end of another six months, Percy White had 
entered college, Bill had been promoted a peg in the 
office, Ben and Randolph were Sub-Freshmen, and 
Harrison Fay, at the scientific school, was in a quandary 
whether he wished to become a naturalist, a civil engineer 
or a chemist. Similarly the education of the girls was 
progressing in various directions. It was to be Con- 
stance’s last year at school and she was deep in languages, 
history and music. She showed no enthusiasm on the 
subject of coming out the following winter, but Mrs. 
Carleton was very well pleased with the effects of asso- 
ciation with other young people and of dancing-school 


Percy , Randolph , Bill. 


79 


upon her. She took trifles less to heart and seemed 
less self-absorbed. Ever since their conversation about 
the valentine, she and Ben had seen more of each other, 
and they had made an arrangement to re ad together 
once a week, which they both enjoyed. 

As for Violet, she had suddenly become an imposing 
young woman, instead of a little girl. She was so tall 
that when she entered the room one morning with her 
hair up, even her mother made no demur, beyond 
remarking to Harold that he was the only baby she had 
left. She no longer giggled at the slightest provocation, 
and she declined to answer when addressed as “ Lettie.” 
She and Ethel, who had grown no taller, demurely 
walked the streets together every afternoon, dreaming 
of the future. 

On the ist of January, Bill was surprised and glad- 
dened by a present from the firm of one hundred dol- 
lars, for his services during the past months ; moreover, 
he was informed that from that date he was to receive 
a yearly salary of five hundred dollars. The following 
day he exhibited at home a small blue paper-covered 
book. 

“ What is that, Bill ?” asked his mother. 

“ My bank-book,” he responded, with an air of proud 
complacency. 

He felt himself a good deal of a capitalist now. Mr. 
Sanborn impressed upon him the importance of care- 
fully considering all expenditures, and cited to him 
numerous instances of fortunes, the foundations of 
which had been laid by conscientious saving. The 
old clerk reported him to Mr. Carleton as steady as a 
watch, which was the highest type of praise in Mr. San- 


8o 


The Carle tons. 


born’s vocabulary ; and certainly Bill continued to be 
most methodical in all his actions, thrumming away at 
the piano with the same unflagging perseverance that 
he displayed in everything else. He clung tenaciously 
to whatever he had become accustomed to, including 
his old clothes ; for he shrank in his dress not only from 
what he stigmatized as frills, but from all innovations 
in cut or shape or color. 

Although he was nearly twenty, he still wore a small, 
round, gray slouch-hat of the same pattern as when he 
was fifteen, and when Percy White put in appearance 
in the winter holidays with a new silk hat, as a com- 
plement to the cane, Bill’s lip curled disdainfully. 

Percy was in great spirits. He was delighted with 
college, and he gave a graphic account of his experiences 
there. He had attempted to carry his cane before the 
eyes of the Sophomores, and a lively war had been the 
result of it. The entire Freshman class had followed 
his example, and there had been a perfect holocaust of 
canes, for the Sophomores had burned them wherever 
they could find them, and in order to find them had 
visited the rooms of every Freshman in collage. 

“ I lost twelve — either burnt or smashed," he 
exclaimed ; “ but I bought a thirteenth, and here it is. 
It’s all over now, though, for the second term has 
begun, and we are allowed to carry canes and wear 
beaver hats after this." Whereupon he gave a con- 
scious laugh and glanced at his new hat. 

Percy went on to tell that he had been chosen on the 
crew which was to row against the Harvard Freshmen, 
and that he was very soon to go into strict training, 
to have to live on .raw meat and go to bed early. He 


Percy , Randolph , Bill. 


81 


declared they must all come and see the race, which 
would be rowed at New London in June. 

Violet found Percy vastly improved and asked Con- 
stance if she did not think the infantile whiskers which 
he was beginning to grow were very becoming. 

“ I don’t see,” interjected Bill, “ that the fellows in 
college do much studying.” 

As Bill spoke he reddened slightly. He had noticed 
the whiskers himself, for his eye was on the lookout for 
anything of the kind in others, owing to the fact that 
he had recently detected some fluff on his own upper 
lip, which had filled him at first with a sort of horror, 
but had become an object of tender solicitude and 
constant secret scrutiny. He believed that it could 
not be long now before some member of the family 
would call attention to his mustache. While in one 
sense he dreaded such an exposure, it was not without 
jealousy that he heard his sister’s compliment to Percy’s 
whiskers, which seemed to him not so very much further 
advanced than his own infant industry. 

Constance made no reply to Violet’s question, for she 
was impressed by the soundness of Bill’s remark. 

“ It does seem as if they didn’t study at all,” she said, 
with a despondent nod. . “Men have such opportunities 
that I don’t see how they can help wishing to study and 
make the most of themselves.” 

“ And where will he be at the end of four years if he 
keeps on ?” continued Bill, averse to introducing gener- 
alities when he had so excellent examples at hand in his 
mind wherewith to point a moral. “ He will have to 
begin again at the bottom of the ladder, and Mr. San- 


82 


The Carletons . 


born says by that time I ought to be earning from a 
thousand to twelve hundred dollars a year.” 

Here was a deduction that consoled the young business 
man for all the glamour produced by the collegian’s 
talk of contests with Sophomore and boat-races, which, 
to tell the truth, had sounded decidedly interesting to 
Bill despite his predisposition to turn up his nose at 
everything that appertained to a college career. Some- 
how, however, this announcement regarding his earning 
capacity did not impress his sisters as much as he ex- 
pected, though their failure to appear electrified by no 
means disturbed Bill, for he said to himself that girls 
had no conception of pecuniary matters or how difficult 
it was to command a respectable salary down-town. 
Constance seemed lost in her own reflections concerning 
the possibilities in the way of scholarship and cultivation 
which a college course afforded, and Violet, on the other 
hand, greeted Ben, who came in as Bill paused, with the 
exclamation that Percy White had just departed, that 
he was anxious to have them go down to see the boat- 
race in June, that she was dying to see it, and that Ben 
must promise to take her. 

“ He was very sorry to miss you,” she added, “ and he 
wants you to call on him. He looks very much im- 
proved ; he has a tall hat, and is growing whiskers — and 
they’re lovely.” 

“ How can you, Violet!” said her sister with a sigh that 
was half a laugh. 

“ I met him as he was coming out of the house,” said 
Ben. “I noticed the hat, and was so much impressed 
that I must have overlooked the whiskers.” 


Percy , Randolph , Bill 


83 


“You can only see them in certain lights,” Bill ven- 
tured to insinuate, with ghoulish glee. 

Interested as he was in Percy, Ben was temporarily 
absorbed by another matter, which may h&ve prejudiced 
his eye-sight regarding the whiskers. He had just 
come from visiting the Shorts, their neighbors on the 
right-hand side ; he had been all over their house, and 
was bubbling with enthusiasm. 

“ Oh, Con, you ought to see the pictures and the statu- 
ary and the books,” he exclaimed ; “ and they have en- 
gravings and photographs of almost everything that’s 
interesting abroad. I could hardly tear myself away ; 
but Mr. Short invited me to come in and look at them 
whenever I wish ; and I mean to, and you must go, too, 
Con, for you couldn’t help being delighted.” 

“ How did they happen to invite you in?” asked Violet, 
curiously. 

Somehow there had been no disposition thus far on 
the part of the family to seek the society of their right- 
hand neighbors. Mrs. Short had called immediately 
when the Carletons first moved into town, but before 
Mrs. Carleton had been able to return her call, the 
Shorts had gone to Florida for the winter, and Mrs. 
Carleton had allowed one thing and another to interfere 
with her returning it this second winter. 

“ Oh, Mr. Short and I are very chummy,” Ben replied. 
“He saw me one day watching him cutting his plants, 
and he scratched acquaintance. I’m very apt to stop 
for a chat if he’s at work outside ; and to-day we got 
talking about sketching, and he asked if I were fond of 
pictures, and I told him I was ; so he invited me in.” 


8 4 


The Carle tons. 


“ Is he pleasant ?” Violet queried again, in the same 
doubtful tone. 

“ I like him first-rate. He is interested in all sorts of 
things. He paints beautifully, and has a studio in the 
top of his house ; and he photographs, too. He showed 
me a lot of his photographs, and I think they’re better 
than a real photographer could do, though he laughed 
when I said so ; and as for his sketches and water-col- 
ors, I felt like never touching a pencil again when I saw 
them. I promised though in a giddy moment,” he 
added lugubriously, “ to let him see my scrawls.” 

“ Whom is he talking about ?” asked Mrs. Carleton, 
who had just come in from out-doors and heard the lat- 
ter part of Ben’s eulogy. 

“ Mr. Short,” said Constance. “ Ben has been in to 
visit the Shorts, and is telling us about their beautiful 
things.” 

“ That woman ! I must return her call. I will do it 
to-morrow,” murmured Mrs. Carleton, in an undertone, 
and almost a guilty look came over her face as she 
spoke. “ Did you see Mrs. Short, Ben ?” she inquired. 

“ Oh, yes. She was very kind and nice.” Violet and 
her mother instinctively exchanged glances. Could it 
be that Mrs. Carleton had allowed herself to put off 
returning Mrs. Short’s call because the Davis family had 
no acquaintance with the Shorts — a fact which Violet 
had learned from Ethel — coupled with the knowledge 
that Mr. Short’s father had made his money in patent 
medicines ? However that may have been, Mrs. Carleton 
made a point of calling on her the following day, and 
she came home quite as enthusiastic as Ben. Her hus- 
band was the first member of the family whom she 


Percy , Randolph , Bill . 


85 


encountered on her return, and to him she unbosomed 
herself with a reflective air in this wise : 

“ Do you know, John, I am afraid city life has its 
demoralizing side as well as its advantages, and when I 
see how subtly I, with all my years, can be influenced 
to do and think things which make me despise myself, I 
tremble for the children.” 

“ What has happened now ? Have you and Ma’am 
Pumpkins’ had a falling out, or have the moths got into 
the cedar chest ?” 

“ Nothing in particular has happened. I am merely 
philosophizing in general on dangers of city life ; all of 
which I took into consideration at the time we moved in. 
The trouble was I counted too much upon the strength 
of poor human nature.” 

“ Poor human nature ! It will be poor human nature 
in a literal sense if our expenses continue to increase at 
the present rate. I should say there was a demoralizing 
side to city life !” exclaimed her husband, which showed 
the direction in which his thoughts were running. “ It 
will be the poor-house, Mrs. Carleton. Look at this 
bill : 

JOHN CARLETON, Esq. 

To PROF. T. BOSENTA, Dr. 

20 lessons in dancing, Miss Constance Carleton $25 00 

20' “ “ “ Miss Violet Carleton 25 00 

20 “ “ “ Master William Carleton 25 00 

20 “ “ “ Master Benjamin Carleton 25 00 

Total $100 00 

Grand demned total, $100. And for what? To 
cultivate their heels at the expense of their brains !” 


86 


The Carle tons. 


Mrs. Carleton could not help wincing at the size of 
the bill, even though she had incurred it deliberately 
and after due reflection. 

“It must seem large to you, of course, John,” she 
said, slowly, “ and 1 hesitated for a long time. But 
what could I do ? The three older ones took of him last 
year, and then they had to go on ; for Bill is just begin- 
ning to like it a little, and Ben is getting on very well, 
so that, after this year’s practice, he will not need any 
more lessons ; and Constance had to continue, for she 
comes out next winter, and if she doesn’t dance well she 
won’t have a good time. To be sure, I might have kept 
Violet at home another year, but the child was so 
anxious to go that I didn’t have the heart to refuse her. 
As to the use of it, John, all I can say it’s wonderful 
what a difference there is in the children’s manners 
since a year ago, and I ascribe it very largely to the 
dancing-school and their association with the children 
who go there. Now, for instance,” she began again, 
after a pensive pause, “ I have been to call to-day on a 
sweet little woman — a dear little woman — who is 
interested in charities, and does, I feel sure, a great 
deal of good in the world. I could not help liking her, 
and I shall try to have our girls see something of her, 
because she will influence them in the right direction ; 
and yet, John, though she is so good and kind and quite 
pretty, she has no more style than — than — what shall I 
say? — a clothes-basket. Although she has a beautiful 
house and plenty of money, she reminded me, in her 
mode of dressing, of the figures of the women in the 
Noah’s ark the children used to have, and she holds 
herself all in a bunch. I’m referring to our next-door 


Percy , Randolph , Bill. 


8 7 


neighbor, Mrs. Short, whose call I was returning, and I 
couldn't help thinking what a pity it was that she should 
be at such a disadvantage. Now, I take it for granted 
in her case that it was never impressed on her as a girl 
that it was worth while to look as well as she could. A 
little teaching, when she was young, would have made 
all the difference in the world, I imagine ; and consider- 
ing how natural and how kindly she is, it seems all the 
greater pity that she should appear like a guy. The 
difficulty is," Mrs. Carleton added, with a sigh, “ people 
seem so apt to lose in heart and good feeling in pro- 
portion as they gain in appearance and address, and 
that’s what is so depressing. As to the bills, John — " 

“ Oh, well, you have worries enough without being 
bothered about them," he interjected, plunging his 
hands into his pockets. “ I’m not bankrupt yet ; and 
provided the children can be steered clear of nonsense, I 
guess I can take care of the bills, and I shouldn’t wonder, 
too, if mine were the easier part of the bargain." 

That evening Mrs. Carleton frowned over her knit- 
ting more than once. In spite of her habitual calm, she 
had inherited from her girlhood a gift of self-scrutiny 
which, when it detected a fault in herself, was unrelent- 
ing. Moreover, before she went to bed that night, she 
sang Mrs. Short’s praises in such a way as to let Violet 
see that she did not intend to imitate Mrs. Davis. 



CHAPTER IX. 

A DISCOVERY. 

The acquaintance with the Shorts soon ripened into 
intimacy, at least so far as Ben and Constance were con- 
cerned. Constance and Mrs. Short became warm friends 
at once. Constance found in Mrs. Short, who was just 
over thirty, a friend at last whom she thoroughly 
admired, and Mrs. Short in turn was captivated by the 
fervid earnestness of the young girl. She and her hus- 
band were devoted to each other, but each had a hobby. 
His was art in its various forms ; he was an absorbed 
collector of pictures, statuary and books. Hers was 
philanthropy, and especially whatever related to the 
higher cultivation of women. Moreover, they were both 
extremely fond of music and of travel. 

The contents of their house were treasure-trove to 
Constance and Ben, who had never imagined anything 
of the sort in a private establishment, and Constance 
was equally amazed and interested by the various chari- 
table and educational undertakings in which her new 
friend had a part. It seemed to Constance that she had 
discovered a mission at last. Without being able to 
define exactly what she wished to do, she had experi- 
enced a yearning to make her life of some use, and here, 



A Discovery . 


89 


it seemed was a field that was wholly to her liking-. 
With feverish enthusiasm she applied herself to the 
preparation of garments for a hospital in which Mrs. 
Short was interested, and went about assiduously with 
her visiting poor families. 

Mrs. Short, while at work as she called it, was untir- 
ing, and never seemed to rest a minute from one end of 
the day to the other. If she were not visiting the sick 
or the poor, she was closeted with some kindred spirit 
investigating an educational scheme or seeking to 
remedy an abuse, or she was deep in correspondence 
relative to all of these. Every now and then, however, 
she would take a holiday, be it for six weeks or as many 
months, shut her house and run away with her husband 
to Mexico, Spain, Norway, or wherever the spirit of the 
art-collector or music -lover called him. 

“ So you see,” she explained to Constance, u I have to 
utilize every spare moment while I am at home, or I 
should accomplish nothing.” 

“ It seems to me yours is a perfectly ideal life,” Con- 
stance said to her, with enthusiasm, one day. “You do 
so much good.” 

“ Do I ?” answered the little woman, with an interrog- 
ative smile. “I'm not so sure about that, my dear. 
Sometimes I feel as if I didn’t accomplish any good at 
all. But,” she added, with just the suggestion of a sigh, 
“ I suppose my life is about as full of interest as the life 
of a woman can be who has no children.” 

“ Oh, yes,” said Constance, a little wonderingly. 

That the lack of children should be a cause for regret 
was rather a new idea to her. She had more than once 
accused herself of hypocrisy when expressions of ad- 


90 


The Carletons . 


miration had been wrenched from her by the mother of 
some puling infant, and had vowed next time to express 
her deliberate conviction on the subject, which was that 
she detested all babies. In this conviction she had the 
strenuous support of her brother Bill’s opinion. 

“ I can’t imagine anything*more satisfying," she con- 
tinued, stifling as unnecessary the sympathy which Mrs. 
Short’s tone had for a moment stirred. 

“ But you mustn’t fancy I don’t appreciate what a val- 
uable ally I have had in you, my dear, during the past 
few months." 

Constance looked modest, and uttered a protest which 
was genuine, in spite of the fact that she was better 
satisfied with herself than usual. 

“ Oh, I feel more every day how incompetent I am, 
Emma." Mrs. Short had asked her to call her by her 
Christian name. 

“ And you are likely to go on feeling so until you are 
as old as Methuselah : you know I’m not quite as old as 
he yet. But by this date next year," Mrs. Short added, 
with a sudden change of tone, as though she had detected 
herself off her guard, “ I hope you’ll have forgotten 
all about me and my charities for some time to come." 

Constance looked at her in amazement. 

“ Forgotten ?" she echoed. 

“ I hope so. You’ll be a belle in society — a social 
success by this time next year." 

Constance turned crimson, and answered with deliber- 
ate disdain : 

“ Nonsense ! I shall never be a — social success. I 
don’t wish to be." 

“ Nonsense yourself, my dear." 


Mrs. Short’s kindly 


A Discovery. 


9 1 


eyes were radiant with amusement “You needn’t be 
a social success if you are bent upon not being one, but 
you will go out like other girls of your age, and not 
make a recluse of yourself at eighteen.” 

Constance felt very much disheartened. She had 
relied upon the support of her new friend in resisting 
her mother’s programme that she should make her 
appearance in society the following winter. One or two 
remarks which Mrs. Short had previously let fall had 
caused her some uneasiness, but this deliberate on- 
slaught quenched utterly the spark of hope. Still, she 
was not convinced herself, nor did her mentor’s laugh- 
ing mien seem to Constance in keeping with the serious- 
ness of the occasion. 

“ Why should I go out if I don’t want to ?” she in- 
quired, gravely, and finding it difficult to repress the 
tears that were welling up in her eyes. 

“ Because you ought to want to. It’s natural for a 
girl of your age to want to.” 

“But I shall hate it.” 

“ How do you know ? You haven’t tried it yet.” 

“ What is the use of going out ?’* said Constance, try- 
ing another tack, in answer to which Mrs. Short asked, 
with an access of eagerness that bespoke feeling on the 
subject : 

“ Do you wish to be all your life ill at ease, awkward 
in your manners and tasteless in dress ? The use of 
going out is to learn how to look and act like a lady, and 
to become familiar with the ways of the world, so as to 
be able to appear to the best advantage in whatever 
circumstances you are placed later.” 

Constance regarded her with surprise. Such reasons 


92 


The Carletons . 


from a person so apparently indifferent in respect to 
her own appearance, bewildered her. 

Mrs. Short, as though she divined what was passing 
through the girl’s mind, continued : 

“ I would give a great deal to have had your advan- 
tages at your age, my dear. I wasn’t so pretty as you are, 
nor so graceful naturally ; but if I had been able to go to 
a few balls and parties when I was eighteen, and see how 
people of good taste behaved and dressed, 1 shouldn’t, 
at least, be such a dowdy now. Don’t protest, my dear, 
for I know perfectly well how I appear. A woman 
doesn’t reach my age without becoming aware what 
other women think of her, and other women are almost 
always right. I’m not comj51aining. I’m merely stating 
a fact. My father and mother were people without 
social acquaintance, who supposed that, provided I 
grew up good and healthy, nothing else mattered much. 
I can’t change now ; it’s too late ; but I don’t wish to 
see you throw away your opportunities. I can say, 
without fear of turning your head, that you need only a 
little intercourse with society to develop into a graceful 
and beautiful woman.” 

“ But I am so much interested in other things,” Con- 
stance urged, despondently. 

“ Time enough for them later on. If you find, after 
a while , that you don’t enjoy yourself, you can retire 
gracefully from the gay world ; and there is no need, 
in any event, of your being too gay. Don’t think I 
wish you to become a butterfly, Constance. It is 
because I know you could not become one that I dare 
to say what I have. It might be the ruin of some girls. 


A Discovery . 


93 


But in your case the danger of ruin lies in your staying 
at home.” 

Shortly before this manifesto was issued by Mrs. 
Short for the benefit of Constance, certain remarks of 
her husband’s had set Ben thinking and speculating. 
In accordance with his promise, he had shown his 
sketches to Mr. Short, who, after keeping them for a 
couple of days, sent in a note, one morning, asking Ben 
if he would come to dinner, in order that they might 
discuss them. Ben went gladly enough, but without 
expectation of praise. It was, therefore, with astonished 
delight that he heard his patron say, after Mrs. Short 
had left the dining-room : 

“ Ben, you’ve genuine talent for drawing. For one 
who has never taken lessons, some of your sketches are 
admirable.” 

Ben colored and grinned by the way of answer. For 
a moment, it occurred to him that Mr. Short might be 
making sport of him, which thought, as well as 
embarrassment, made him cautious. 

“ You’ve a future before you in the artistic line, if you 
care to develop it.” 

Ben grinned again. By this time he perceived that 
his host was thoroughly in earnest, but he could think 
of nothing to say in reply to so unexpected an announce- 
ment. 

“ You’re not to understand by this that I mean you’re 
a genius, and are going to become a great artist right 
off bang,” continued Mr. Short. 

“ I guess not,” said Ben, finding his tongue under the 
spur of such an imputation. 

“You’ve talent, though — natural talent — that, prop- 


94 


The Carle tons. 


erly developed, will enable you to become an artist or 
architect, and give you an advantage over your contem- 
poraries who become artists or architects without 
talent.” 

“ But I’m to be a lawyer,” said Ben, suddenly 
appreciating, not altogether without consternation, that 
Mr. Short was making a very radical suggestion. But 
the moment he had spoken he realized that he was 
extremely anxious to become an artist. 

“ Because you wish to be ?” was the pertinent answer. 

Ben looked almost sheepish. 

“ Well, I can’t say I’ve thought much about it one 
way or the other. Father, though, has always said I 
was to be a lawyer.” 

“ I see. But does your father know you draw ?” 

“ They all know that.” 

“ And don’t think much of it, eh?” asked Mr. Short, 
struck, perhaps, by a deprecatory note in Ben’s tone. 

“ I didn’t suppose it amounted to much anyway.” 

“ Well, it doesn’t yet.” 

“ Of course not,” said Ben. 

Mr. Short smiled, and it was at his own expense. 
Anxious as he was to prevent Ben from deriving a too 
exalted impression from his words, he had not intended 
to evoke such complete humility ; and convinced now 
that there was no danger of his being misunderstood, 
he added, cheerily : 

“ That is, it doesn't amount to much in one sense, and 
it does amount to a good deal in another. So far as 
fulfillment goes, your sketches are what you doubtless 
intend them to be — mere off-hand, free-and-easy 
expressions of what you saw or thought ; their excel- 


A Discovery . 


95 


lence lies in their promise, and they are full of promises. 
What’s more, my boy, you ought never to be a lawyer, 
and you may tell your father so with my compliments, 
with the reason.” 

Ben’s face was a curious study. The ideas suggested 
were so new and sudden that he felt dumbfounded in 
spite of his satisfaction. 

“ I don’t know what father would say, I’m sure,” he 
murmured. “ I should think, though, it would be very 
interesting to be an artist.” 

“Well, you have four years of college life in which to 
consider the matter. Take your time and come to a 
conclusion gradually ; there’s no hurry about it. While 
you’re making up your mind, though, it will do you no 
harm to take a few lessons in drawing. We’ll take them 
together if you like ; I know of just the teacher, if you can 
spare an afternoon or two a week. I forgot, though,” 
Mr. Short added, “you are cramming for college, 
and have all your time occupied already. We’ll put it 
off until next year, then, only I sha’n’t forget it, I warn 
you. There are lawyers enough already.” 

“ I should like nothing better,” replied Ben. 

Indeed, he was so pleased at the proposal, that he 
declared he could spare the necessary time for beginning 
the drawing lessons at once, in spite of his present labors. 
But Mr. Short shook his head and said : 

“ ‘ All work and no play make J ack a dull boy.’ Y ou’re 
thin and scrawny enough already, Ben. I want you to 
have a little flesh left on your bones.” 

“ I’m tough, though,” he answered proudly, thrusting 
his hands into his pockets. 

This dialogue gave Master Ben plenty of food for 


9 6 


The Carle tons. 


thought. From that day he necessarily regarded his 
sketches with a very different eye, and he was surprised 
to find how interested he had really been in them with- 
out acknowledging it to himself. The idea of becoming 
an artist or an architect took possession of him ; and 
long before the date of his college entrance examinations, 
he had come to a definite conclusion that he had no 
intention of being a lawyer. But remembering that Mr. 
Short had said there was no need of haste in making up 
his mind, Ben refrained from broaching the matter to 
his father. In fact, the only person to whom he spoke 
of it was Violet, feeling confident, perhaps, that the 
family determination as to what he was to be would 
weigh very little with her as against his preference. 

“ There !” she exclaimed, when he had finished ; “ how 
stupid of us not to have realized that you had talent, Ben. 
I’ve always thought your things were awfully funny, 
but we’ve taken them so for granted. An artist or an 
architect ? I think either would be splendid, and much 
nicer than a lawyer. If you’re an artist, I suppose you’ll 
wear a velveteen coat, and go abroad strange countries 
for to see. 

“ i And he de-ter-min-ed to go abroad 
Strange countries for to see.’ 

What fun ! I’m in favor of the artist, Ben ; and you 
must take me with you when you go. I shall pose as the 
spinster sister of the famous American artist, Benjamin 
Carleton, and shine by reflected light.” 


FOR A MOMENT BEN STARED FIXEDLY AT THE PAGE. — See rage 102 . 























. 

I 

* 


























































CHAPTER X. 

TEN AWFUL DAYS. 

While uttering this self-depreciatory conclusion, Vio- 
let glanced at herself, not exactly humbly, in her mirror. 

“ I’m in the dumps to-day, Ben,” she remarked, a few 
moments later. “ It has been decided definitely that 
Ethel is to come out next winter instead of the winter 
after. They had intended to take her abroad next year 
and bring her out the following winter ; but, you see, 
she has two grandmothers, both in the eighties, and if 
anything should happen to either of them she would 
have to go into mourning for six months at least ; so as 
they are now both perfectly well, and Ethel will be 
eighteen in February, and there is really no reason why 
she shouldn’t go out, it seems sensible that she should. 
So her clothes have been ordered. If anything should 
happen in the meantime, they can go abroad as they 
intended. Ethel told me this in confidence, and 
naturally they don’t wish it talked about ; that is the 
reason.” 

“ Naturally,” observed Ben, with an ironical smile, 
which made Violet pause a moment and look a little 
foolish. 


9 8 


The Ccirletons . 


“ It does sound rather heartless when it’s stated in 
cold blood like that,” she continued, “ but I think it’s 
sensible ; don’t you ? Ethel is devoted to both her 
grandmothers. At eighty, though, one can’t live for- 
ever, you know.” 

“ If they took it into their heads to die in two succes- 
sive years, she would be in a pretty kettle of fish.” 

“ Do be serious, Ben. I tell you Ethel is very fond of 
her grandmothers ; but entirely reasonable, it seems to 
me, she wishes to go out while she can. Now you see,” 
Violet continued, intensely, “I’m just crazy to come out 
at the same time ; but I don’t suppose there’s a chance 
that mother will let me. I shall be seventeen and a 
half, though. One thing, however, I’m determined on ; 
I’m going to Ethel’s ball. Ethel says it would be 
spoiled for her if I were not there, and my heart is set 
on it, even if I have to retire to the nursery for the rest 
of the winter. You’ll speak in favor of it, won’t you, 
Ben ?” 

Ben promised to do so, declaring that he saw no rea- 
son why she should not go to a single party if she 
wished to. Hence Violet took courage from his sup- 
port to disclose her scheme to the rest of the family 
before long. It was evidently regarded askance, and as 
more of a jest than otherwise ; but from the fact that no 
positive refusal was given by her mother, Violet trusted 
to bring it to pass by not abandoning it, and at every 
opportunity she alluded to the project as though it were 
agreed that she was to go. She even went so far occa- 
sionally as to suggest, with a roguish smile, that she 
intended to come out for good and all. This sugges- 
tion was apt, however, to evoke a decided shake of the 


Ten A iv fnl Days. 


99 


maternal head, which seemed to Violet to he an argu- 
ment that the less radical proposition might possibly be 
entertained when the time for action should arrive. 

What with impending preparations for sending Ben 
to college and introducing Constance into society, Mrs. 
Carleton was beginning to feel considerably in a flutter. 
She had, in the first place, to fit up Ben’s college room. 
With a view to this, she visited Highlands, which was now 
leased, and, after overhauling the contents of the attic, 
she unearthed a carpet and sundry antique articles of 
furniture, that, with a few touches from the upholsterer, 
promised to do admirably. At the same time she hit 
upon some crimson curtains which she had forgotten 
were in existence, and which pleased Ben beyond mea- 
sure. 

“By Jove,” he cried, “I shall be awfully swell. 
They’re stunning, mumsy,” and he flung his arms around 
his mother’s neck. 

His examinations were at hand, and, though he 
expected to pass, Ben could not help feeling nervous, 
and his nervousness naturally affected the rest of the 
family. He was absent two days, and returned in rather 
a dejected mood, certain as to nothing. In several sub- 
jects he thought he had done well, in others he had been 
unable to answer some of the questions, and there were 
questions which he had answered incorrectly. He said 
that every one was agreed that it was a terribly hard 
examination, and that the papers were so difficult as to 
be almost unfair. Still, he hoped he had passed. He 
felt by no means sure, but he hoped he had. 

The only one of the household not inclined to be 
anxious as a consequence of these forebodings was his 


IOO 


The Carletons . 


mother. She persisted in the belief that he had done 
well, and would pass with flying colors. 

“ But, mumsy,” Ben would say, almost angrily, “ it’s 
absurd to talk like that. If I have passed at all, it’s by 
the skin of my teeth. As to my passing without con- 
ditions, there's not a chance of it.” 

“Well, dear, we’ll wait and see,” Mrs. Carleton 
answered, with her placid smile, as much as to say she 
didn’t believe a word of it. 

“ If Randolph Davis is able to pass, you ought to be,” 
remarked Bill, in a superior manner. This matter of 
examinations seemed to him decidedly juvenile business, 
something which he was thankful to escape, and at the 
same time unworthy of serious consideration from a 
grown-up point of view. 

“ It’s one thing to ought to do, and another to do,” 
was Ben’s reply. 

Bill shook his head, and said decidedly : 

“ I don’t know about that, if a fellow means to succeed. 
It’s so in business, anyway.” 

Some ten days must elapse before the result would be 
known. By the end of a week, every ring at the door 
made Ben’s heart go pit-a-pat, in expectation that the 
postman had left the longed-for and yet dreaded letter. 
He and Randolph Davis talked the examination over 
time and again, or rather Ben secured Randolph as an 
auditor, to whom to rehearse his conjectures as to the 
probabilities of his having passed in this subject and 
that ; for Randolph seemed to have little doubt that he 
himself had passed, though he was regarded at school as 
a shirk in his studies, and it had been considered doubt- 
ful whether he could get through. 


Ten Awful Days . 


IOI 


“ I slipped up in Greek grammar, and in Greek moods 
and tenses, and I must have had a close call on algebra/* 
Randolph declared ; “ but they gave me the one pas- 
sage in Virgil I really knew, and I spread myself on it. 
Wasn’t it luck ? I had luck, too, in the ancient geogra- 
phy paper. I had crammed up on a list of special 
questions and dates, and there were only three which I 
didn’t know. You have passed, Ben, of course. You 
must have passed.” 

Ben shook his head dolefully. 

“ I slumped completely in ancient geography. Every 
date went out of my head.” 

“ Well, what’s the use of worrying about it, anyway ?” 
said Randolph, lazily. “ If I don’t pass, it won’t break 
my heart. The governor will pretend to be cross at 
first, but he doesn’t really expect I’ll pass, so he won’t 
be much disappointed, and I’d nearly as soon go abroad 
as go to college. What are you going to do if you don’t 
pass ? Going into business ?” 

Ben realized that he had never considered that alter- 
native. 

“ I shall try another year, I suppose,” he replied, 
gloomily. “ I want to go to college.” 

“ Once is enough for me. I know now as much as I 
could ever be made to know, I guess.” 

One morning, just after breakfast, the door-bell rang, 
and the maid-servant who answered it, brought in a 
single letter, which she handed to Ben. His eye caught 
the printed notice in the upper left-hand corner, that, if 
not delivered in five days, it was to be returned to his 
college, and his heart leaped into his mouth. His fate 
was in his hands. All eyes were turned on him as he 


102 


The Carle tons. 


tremulously undid it. He would have preferred to run 
away and inspect the contents apart, but, somehow, he 
felt that it would be cowardly. With a gasp, he nerved 
himself and looked. For a moment, he stared fixedly 
at the page ; his brain was dancing ; he could scarcely 
believe that he saw correctly. Then a smile relaxed his 
lips, and looking up, he caught his mother’s eye. 

“ I’ve passed,” he said, contentedly. 

There was a general sigh of relief. 

“ How many conditions ?” asked Constance, earnestly. 

“ Guess.” 

“ I can’t. Tell us.” 

“ One !” exclaimed Violet. 

“ Two, then,” said Constance. 

No one else was prepared to increase the number. 

“ Out with it, my boy. It doesn’t matter much how 
many, since you’ve passed,” said Mr. Carleton. 

Ben gave a happy laugh. 

“ Mother was right,” he said. “ I got in clear.” 

The girls clapped their hands simultaneously, and 
Violet tossed her napkin-ring high in air. 

“ Without conditions ? Oh, how happy I am !” cried 
Constance. 

“Bully for you, Ben,” said Bill, while father and 
mother exchanged proud, delighted glances. 

“That’s grand,” said John Carleton, emphatically. 
“ And your mother had confidence in you all along.” 

“ It was a sheer case of crying wolf, and only mother 
caught on to it,” said Bill. 

“ I don’t understand now how I managed it,” answered 
Ben, who was trembling with delight to the verge of 
tears. 


Ten Awful Days . 


103 


“ A great deal better, Ben, than to have felt too con- 
fident,” said his father. “We must celebrate this victory 
with a fine dinner, Mary.” 

“ Indeed, we will,” replied the mother, wiping away 
a tear of joy. “And Ben shall choose the dinner.” 

Here was, indeed, a privilege, of which even the 
stately Violet was appreciative. 

“ I know what he’ll choose for one thing,” she whis- 
pered audibly. 

“ S-h !” exclaimed her father. “ Give him a clear 
field.” 

Ben was in a decided predicament. So many good 
things surged into his mind that choice was difficult. 
But after a moment he proclaimed, decisively : 

“ I choose roast goose.” 

There was a murmur of approval. 

“ I knew he would,” said Violet. “ Goose is 
galumptious.” 

“ And apple-sauce,” piped in Harold. 

“ Apple-sauce, of course,” said their mother. “ Who 
ever heard of goose without apple-sauce ? What else, 
Ben ?” 

“ Pea-soup, with fried crumbs ; salmon and green- 
peas ; cottage-pudding ; nuts and raisins.” 

“ Jehosophat !” exclaimed Harold, “won’t we be 
full !” 

“ And a bottle of champagne to drink Ben’s heaHh 
with,” said the father. 

It was a merry party that gathered round the table at 
dinner time ; and Harold’s prediction was amply ful- 
filled. Ben, when toasted, declared that all the credit 
belonged to mumsy; he believed that her confidence 


io4 


The Carietons. 


had bewitched the college examiners into letting him 
pass, and her health had to be drunk, also. At Ben’s 
suggestion, Mr. and Mrs. Short had been invited, 
together with Randolph Davis, who had succeeded in 
passing with three conditions. 

“Just the number I expected to get,” said Randolph ; 
“ but the queer part of it was, Miss Violet, I was condi- 
tioned in Virgil, which I was sure I had done well in.” 

Randolph had a way of looking out from his dark eyes 
that made whatever he said seem interesting when he 
chose to indulge in it, and he was certainly very hand- 
some. Violet found the goose even more “ galumptious” 
than she had anticipated, for which, perhaps, the pres- 
ence of Mr. Davis, as she called him, was partly respon- 
sible. 




CHAPTER XI. 

A GORGEOUS POSSIBILITY FOR HAROLD. 

The first week in January was fixed upon for the 
Davis ball, and a fortnight before the appointed evening 
the formal invitations arrived. There was one for the 
Misses Carleton, which left no doubt that Violet was 
expected ; and one for Mr. William Carleton. Ben, who 
was at college, was, as Ethel confided to Violet, consid- 
ered too young. No Freshmen were to be present, 
except, of course, Randolph, “ who, you know, is really 
grown-up in his manners,” Ethel added. 

The adage that a continual dripping will wear away 
a stone, proved true in the case of Violet’s importunity 
to be allowed to attend her friend’s coming-out party. 
Mrs. Carleton, after the arrival of the invitations, gave 
her consent. As there were dressmakers in the house 
busy over Constance, a modest tulle dress could be eas- 
ily made at the same time for the ugly duckling, and it 
really did seem rather hard that she should not go, since 
her heart was set on it. 

Mrs. Carleton prided herself on the fact that she had 
managed to get rid of Harold during this period of 
household activity. She had appreciated that he would 



io6 


The Carle to ns. 


be dreadfully in the way at home when her entire ener- 
gies were being taxed to see that Constance was pro- 
vided with a suitable wardrobe, and it had more than 
once occurred to her how convenient it would be if she 
could pack him off to stay with Cousin Rebecca Hub- 
bard ; but she would no more have dared to ask her 
relative to give house-room to a boy of thirteen than 
she would have questioned her as to the provisions of 
her will. As she said to her husband, it was a sheer 
dispensation of Providence that Cousin Rebecca hap- 
pened to take it into her head one day when she was at 
the house to suggest it herself. 

“ That youngest boy of yours looks pale, Mary. He 
doesn’t thrive on city air. I suppose he’s like the rest ?” 
she added, with a sniff. 

“ How do you mean, Rebecca ?” 

“Well, up to mischief generally. I shouldn’t care to 
be a dog or a parrot and live in the same house with 
your other children, if you’ll excuse my saying so, 
Mary.” 

“I can’t say that Harold is any better than the 
others. But I think you judge them severely, Rebecca. 
They may be thoughtless, but I am sure that no one of 
them would maliciously torment a dumb creature,” 
answered Mrs. Carleton, with the righteous warmth 
that a mother feels when her offspring are unjustly 
censured. Disinheritance or no disinheritance, she 
could not consent to that. 

Cousin Rebecca gave a toss of her head, and remarked, 
with a slow acerbity : 

“ I don’t know that it makes much difference to a dog 
and a parrot, whether folks who torment them are 


A Gorgeous Possibility for Harold. 107 


thoughtless or malicious. I guess it means pretty much 
the same to them. But if you care to send Harold to me 
for a fortnight, I’ll warrant he won’t come back any 
worse than he is at present.” 

Mrs. Carleton had scarcely been able to believe her 
ears. Ungracious as the invitation was in form, she was 
afraid afterward that she had veritably jumped at it. 
Certainly she had lost no time in accepting it, and in 
her fear lest Cousin Rebecca might change her mind, 
she had hastened to point out such virtues as she could 
conscientiously ascribe to her youngest son. 

Alas ! these were not many. Her baby, as Mrs. Carle- 
ton still called Harold, although he was a big boy in 
trousers, was, as a matter of fact, a more difficult subject 
to manage than either of his brothers at the same age. 
He was a handsome little fellow, with curly hair, squarely 
built like Bill, and somewhat resembling Violet in fea- 
tures. He was bright and original, and he had a faculty 
of warding off the natural consequences of disobedience 
and insubordination by the amusing character of his 
responses when held to an account. The family was too 
apt to laugh at his peccadilloes, not realizing that he 
was no longer a mere child, so that he had got into the 
way of thinking he could do pretty much as he chose 
without danger of punishment. Mrs. Carleton had 
become painfully conscious of this, and was constantly 
saying she would put her foot down and force Harold to 
obey promptly and exactly; but, somehow, when the 
time came she was sure to be disarmed either by the 
plausibility of the excuse which he offered, or the 
amusing circumstances connected with his ill-doing. 
Though she suffered some qualms at the thought of 


io8 


The Carle tons. 


inflicting so undisciplined a monkey on her spinster 
relation, she consoled herself with the hope that a 
change of authority might be all he needed to improve 
his behavior, which did not, however, prevent her from 
shaking her head now and again at the thought of what 
was likely to happen in case Cousin Rebecca should not 
inspire sufficient awe to enforce obedience. 

The invitation to Harold was regarded by the others 
as a distinct manifestation of preference by Cousin 
Rebecca, and he was cautioned jocularly again and 
again to conduct himself in such a manner as to make 
himself indispensable to the old lady. 

“ I tell you what, Harold,” said Ben, “ previous to 
this I’ve been far and above the favorite. Let’s make a 
sworn alliance. If she leaves it to you you go halves 
with me, and if she leaves it to me I’ll divide with you.” 

Don’t agree to anything of the sort, Harold,” inter- 
jected Bill. “ One of us has only to mention Ben’s 
sketch of her to Cousin Rebecca, and his goose is 
cooked. You see, Harold, I’m the only one who has a 
shadow of a chance. Constance ruined hers, years ago, 
by upsetting the parrot’s cage.” 

“ Which has rankled ever since in Cousin Rebecca’s 
mind,” said Violet. “ She firmly believes to this day 
that Con did it on purpose.” 

“ Bill was present the same day, and pulled the par- 
rot’s tail,” added their mother. “ Cousin Rebecca, in 
referring to the occasion, always speaks of ‘ those bad 
children.’ I should say that you were all equally out of 
the race.” 

“ Which leaves a clear field for me,” said Harold. 

“ Who knows, if you behave yourself.” 


A Gorgeous Possibility for Harold. 109 


“ A monstrous 1 if !* ” cried Ben. “ If I were capi- 
talist, like Bill, I’d stake a handsome sum that Harold 
returns a ruined community.’ 1 ’ 

“ Not a bit of it,” said their mother, fondly. “ He 
means to please me by remembering that Cousin 
Rebecca is an old lady and not accustomed to boys. I 
feel sure that he will conduct himself like a gentle- 
man.” 




CHAPTER XII. 

EXTRA CREAM LAID. 

It had been decided that Bill was to accompany 
Constance into society. Nor was he averse to this on 
the whole. The purchase of a swallow-tail coat struck 
his conservative mind, to be sure, as a radical under- 
taking, especially in view of the fact that his mentor, 
Mr. Sanborn, when questioned, announced that he had 
gone through life without owning one. Still, after the 
impossibility of going to parties in any other garb had 
been reiterated to him by both his mother and his 
father, he consented to be measured, not without secret 
satisfaction, and, on the evening when the dress-suit 
arrived, he stole up stairs to his room with the parcel to 
study the effect. As he surveyed himself in the long 
mirror which formed the door of his wardrobe, he 
blushed sheepishly at his own magnificence. The new 
clothes fitted him like a glove ; the bulky old-fashioned 
studs — coral acorns set in gold — which his father had 
fished out of a drawer and made him a present of, struck 
him as exquisite ; and somehow his mustache, either 
because it was set off by the white necktie, or because it 
harmonized so well with the general effect of the new 
apparel, seemed of imposing proportions. 



Extra Cream Laid. 


T I I 


The family several months before had ceased to be 
blind to the existence of this hirsute ornamentation. 
Ben had discovered it, and confided his suspicions to 
Violet, and they had broached the subject to Bill at the 
dinner table, only to be answered with a conscious blush 
and a halting evasion, that were meant to produce the 
effect of a denial. But time had vindicated the correct- 
ness of their diagnosis, and to-day the mustache was 
both an acknowledged and an accepted fact. 

When the invitations to the Davis ball arrived, Mrs. 
Carleton chanced to remark that they would require to 
be answered. 

“ As if I didn’t know that, mother,” said Bill. 

“ I am going to answer the girls’ invitation ; shall I 
answer yours at the same time ?” 

“No, thank you ; I will answer it myself,” he replied, 
with a toplofty air. 

As in all serious matters, Bill took Mr. Sanborn into 
his confidence, and one afternoon, after every one else 
was gone for the day, he settled himself under the eye of 
the old clerk to compose an answer. Both were agreed 
that office paper with the imprint of the firm was inap- 
propriate. So, too, a sheet of his mother’s tinted note 
paper stamped with her monogram, which Bill had 
appropriated, was adjudged all very well for a woman, 
but two small and finicky for a man. 

“ If you wish my opinion, there’s nothing like plain, 
extra cream-laid letter size,” said Mr. Sanborn, exhibit- 
ing a sheet of that article, which he had taken from a 
package in his private drawer. “ It’s white, and there’s 
nothing printed on it, and you've room enough to say 
what you’ve got to say without fear of being crowded. 


I I 2 


The Carle tons. 


I wrote my letter of thanks for the watch the firm 
gave me on a sheet of that, and I wrote on a sheet of it 
my request for leave of absence when my sister died, 
which was granted. I don’t believe you can do better, 
William. Here’s a new pen that has been used just 
enough to make it write well.” 

Bill was well satisfied with this advice, and pen in 
hand, bent over the broad expanse of paper. The invi- 
tation read : 

Mr. and Mrs. Leroy Davis 
request the pleasure of 
Mr. William Carleton' s 
company at a small party , 
on Wednesday evening , 

January the fifth , at nine o'clock. 

Bill hesitated for a moment without beginning ; then 
he said : “Would you write 4 Mr. William Carleton* or 
simply 4 William Carleton ? ’ ” 

“ Plain 4 William,’ I should say,” answered Mr. San- 
born decisively. 

ft But the invitation says 4 Mr. and Mrs. Davis.* ” 

The old clerk cogitated a moment. 

. 44 That’s because there’s a lady in the case, which 
makes a difference,” he answered triumphantly. 

Bill wrote accordingly, with infinite pains, 44 William 
Carleton.” Then he stopped and looked up as though a 
valuable idea had occurred to him. 

44 1 suppose I had better present my compliments !” 

“ Certainly ! Certainly ! 4 William Carleton presents 
his humble compliments to Mr. and Mrs. Davis, and 


Extra Cream Laid. 


i*3 


begs to acknowledge the receipt of their polite invita- 
tion, contents noted.’ That’s the way I should start it.” 

“ Would you say * contents noted ?’ ” asked Bill, doubt- 
fully. 

“ I guess it’s usual. It's business-like, any way, and 
there’s no harm in being business-like, whatever you’re 
doing.” 

“ How would this do to finish up with ?” Bill asked, 
after a thoughtful pause, when he had written as 
directed. “ * It will give him great pleasure to be 
present at their delightful entertainment on the afore- 
said evening, to which he is looking forward with keen 
anticipation.’ ” 

“ Bravo ! Very nicely turned,” exclaimed Mr. San- 
born. “ 4 Keen anticipation ’ is the very thing. And 
it’s quite enough. I’d sign myself > 1 Your obedient 
servant,’ and stop.” 

“ But does it need to be signed ? The invitation isn’t 
signed.” 

Mr. Sanborn took the invitation and studied it atten- 
tively. 

“ It’s printed,” he said, finally, “ and that’s why it isn’t 
signed. Never be ashamed to sign your name, my 
boy ; there’s no merit in anonymous communications.” 

“It wouldn’t be exactly anonymous, for my name is 
at the beginning.” 

“ Yes, but who could be sure you had written it if 
your name wasn't signed to it, unless they knew your 
handwriting ?” 

This logic was too much for Bill. He complied with 
the old clerk’s suggestion, and on perusal of the entire 
composition, he felt he had acquitted himself with credit. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

VICISSITUDES IN HAROLD’S CAREER. 

The chief advantage, in the youthful Harold’s mind, 
of a visit to Cousin Rebecca at Hampton, had been the 
opportunity that he would have for winter sports. He 
would be able to coast and skate to his heart’s content. 
Nor was he disappointed, so far as concerned a 
sufficiency of snow and ice. Cousin Rebecca received 
him with what was affability for her, and the only 
restrictions which she imposed on his freedom of action 
were that he should be punctual at meals and forbear 
from molesting her dogs, her parrots or her canaries. 
He was at liberty to amuse himself in other ways as he 
saw fit. Moreover, Cousin Rebecca set an excellent 
table, which he did not fail to appreciate ; and, 
altogether, it seemed to Master Harold that he was 
decidedly in clover. His first letter home emphasized 
this fact : 


“ Hampton, Dec. 28. 

* Dear Mother : The coasting is first-rate, and I am 
having a bully time. Cousin Rebecca has two pugs, 
two parrots, and three canaries. One of the parrots 



Vicissitudes in Harold's Career . 




cannot talk, but the other says all sorts of things. 
Cousin Rebecca is a brick, and has splendid things to 
eat. I met Dr. Fay in the street yesterday, and he gave 
me an orange. Give my love to father and all the 
others, and with a kiss for you, dear mother, I am 
Your affectionate son, 

Harold Carleton. 

P. S. — One of the canaries has laid an egg.” 

Two days after this letter was written, a thaw set in. 
As a consequence, when Harold returned, just before 
tea-time, he was very wet — so much so that he could not 
get his rubber boots off ; and when the maid-servant, in 
whose charge he had been put, succeeded in starting one 
of them, a shower of slush was emptied upon the carpet. 

“ That’s nothing,” said Harold, by way of appeasing 
Cousin Rebecca. “ I’m often a great deal wetter than 
that at home.” 

“ Well, it can’t be good for you to get so wet, and it 
mustn’t happen again,” answered Cousin Rebecca, with 
a wheeze. She was a very stout lady, and when she 
was agitated, she was apt to wheeze. “ If you were to 
be laid up sick, what would your mother say ?” 

Harold received the reproof in silence, but it could 
not have produced much impression on him, for on the 
following day he returned late for tea in rather a worse 
condition. Cousin Rebecca waylaid him in the hall, 
through which he was endeavoring to scurry unobserved. 

“ You are late for tea, Harold. What have you been 
doing ?” 

“ Building a dam, ma’am.” 

“ You look wet through.” 


. The Carletons. 


1 16 


He certainly did, and though he uttered a faint “ Not 
very,” his words were belied by the gurgling sound 
which his boots emitted when he attempted to moVe. 
Cousin Rebecca heard this and cried : 

“ Stand where you are ! Don’t stir a step ! Jane !” 

When the servant appeared, she pointed to the cul- 
prit with an air of severity and said : 

“ Take him out into the kitchen and remove his wet 
things. When his rubber boots are dry you may bring 
them to me.” 

Harold followed the girl meekly, but just as he was 
leaving the hall, turned with a fascinated air and 
asked : 

“ What are you going to do with my rubber boots, 
Cousin Rebecca ?” 

“ Lock them up where you won’t get them. To-mor- 
row you will stay in the house, Harold.” 

Here was a punishment that rankled deeply, espec- 
ially when on the morrow a fall of snow had supplied 
material for new dams. Harold pressed his nose against 
the window-panes in dire discontent. He realized from 
Cousin Rececca’s set expression of countenance that it 
would probably be useless to try to beg off ; still, at 
length, he said humbly : 

“ I’ll promise not to wet myself if you’ll allow me to 
go out, and I’ll come home in time for tea.” 

“Catch me /” was the laconic answer. 

“ Naughty boy !” exclaimed the talking parrot, perti- 
nently. 

“ That bird has rare intelligence/’ murmured the old 
lady. 

To be insulted by a parrot in addition to being impris- 


Vicissitudes in Harolds Career . 


1 1 7 


oned was galling, and Harold vowed to himself that he 
would get out somehow. 

Not content with locking up the rubber boots, Cousin 
Rebecca had taken the precaution to secure his other 
boots also, so that he was reduced to slippers. After 
the noonday dinner it was customary with the old lady 
to take a nap — forty winks, as she called it. When she 
had dropped off as usual, Harold realized that whatever 
he purposed to do must be done at once. If only he 
knew where she had hidden the key of the closet where 
his boots were ! Probably in her pocket ; but he had not 
the hardihood to investigate, especially under the eye of 
the parrot, who would be sure to cry : “ What’s your 
name ? St-t-boy !” or give vent to some other compro- 
mising signal. 

Suddenly, however, his face lighted up. An idea had 
come to him that was eminently simple and satisfactory. 
Emil Logan, a playmate of his own age, lived only a 
short distance off on the opposite side of the stream, 
close to where the boys would be building their dam. 
Why not glide out of the house in his slippers, and foot 
it as fast as he could to Emil’s, tell Emil the circum- 
stances, and borrow a pair of boots ? 

Why not, indeed ! Cousin Rebecca was snoozing 
peacefully, and Jane was in the kitchen. His hat and 
his coat were in the front entry, and he had merely to 
slip out of the house and take to his heels. Moving on 
tiptoe, he turned the handle of the sitting-room door, 
but was brought to a stand-still by the croaking voice of 
the parrot, which just then took it into his head to cry 
strenuously : 

“ Naughty boy !” 


n8 


The Carle tons. 


Harold felt all of a tremble ; but the old lady did not 
stir. He could not refrain from shaking- bis fist at the 
bird, though, at the same time, he said appeasingly : 

“ Poor Polly ! Pretty Polly 1” 

“Oh, I know you!” answered the sagacious parrot. 

But Harold was gone. In a jiffy he had on his hat 
and coat and was in the street. The sidewalk was slip- 
pery as glass, for the snow of the morning had melted 
and it was now freezing. Unfortunately, he decided to 
cross the street at once instead of keeping on the same 
side until opposite Emil Logan’s. With a big bound he 
nimbly sped through the slush of the highway without 
seriously submerging his slippers, and skipped the gutter 
successfully. Instinctively he glanced up to see if he 
were observed, and to his horror descried Jane at an 
upper window. Even then he might possibly have 
escaped her notice, had he not, in his eagerness to hasten, 
slipped, tottered, slipped again and pitched over the 
curbstone on to his back. He was unhurt, but in rising 
to his feet he found himself ankle-deep in slush, which 
was a trivial matter in his eyes compared with the dis- 
gust of knowing that he was discovered. An emphatic 
knocking at the window-pane notified him of this as he 
turned to flee, and a moment later the voice of Jane cry- 
ing : “ Master Harold ! Master Harold ! Oh, where are 
you going, Master Harold, in them slippers ?” rang after 
him down the street. 

The hubbub awakened Cousin Rebecca, to whom 
Jane, half laughing, half crying, imparted the appalling 
news. 

“ He’s that smart, ma’am, there’s no accounting for 
what he’ll do,” she added. 


Vicissitudes in Harold } s Career . 119 


“ I ‘11 make him smart when I get him in the house 
again. Is Michael about ?” 

“ Yes, ma’am, he’s in the kitchen, just after finishing 
his dinner.” 

“ Send him to me.” 

Michael was Cousin Rebecca’s choreman and coach- 
man, a burly Irishman six feet tall and proportionately 
broad. When he appeared in answer to this summons, 
his mistress said with a wheeze : 

“ Michael, you will find Master Harold and bring him 
home at once, even if you have to carry him. ” The man 
grinned and touched his finger to his forelock. Fifteen 
minutes later he re-entered Cousin Rebecca’s presence 
with a bundle in his arms, which he seemed to carry as 
easily as a kitten. The bundle was Harold. His captor 
had come upon him just as he emerged from Emil 
Logan’s house, provided with boots. Fortune was against 
Harold, for he had closed the door, and Michael barred 
his passage down the steps. He had made one desper- 
ate effort to dodge past him, but a pair of muscular 
arms held him tight, and he was borne away, struggling 
like a young chimpanzee. 

Solitary confinement in bed for twenty-four hours, 
on bread and milk, followed. Harold entered the break- 
fast-room on the second morning with a crestfallen 
smile. He appreciated that he had got only what he 
deserved, and that his adversary had triumphed over 
him. He felt sore, but he had no real ground of com- 
plaint. 

“ We’ve missed you !” shrieked the parrot, as he undid 
his napkin. 


120 


The Carletons . 


“ We’ll let bygones be bygones, and start fresh, Polly,” 
said the old lady, magnanimously. 

“Amen !” 

Harold devoured his breakfast in silence. Now that 
he was in contact with the work-a-day world again, he 
found himself overcome by the pathos of his circum- 
stances, and his eyes filled with tears. He felt bitterly 
against the parrot, against Cousin Rebecca, against Jane 
and Michael, and discontented with the world at large. 
He gave a gulp of distress, and then suddenly he thought 
of the orange which Dr. Fay had given him. In the 
excitement of the past few days, it had slipped his 
memory. He would eat it now, and it seemed likely to 
go far toward reconciling him with humanity. 

Accordingly, he looked into the china closet, where he 
had carefully concealed it on the shelf. It was not 
there. He examined anxiously to right and left, but 
there was no sign of an orange. Where could it be ? 
Who had dared to touch it? With rising choler, he 
vainly pulled out and peered into each of the drawers 
that were beneath the shelf. Some one had taken it ; 
that was clear. But who ? 

He emerged from the closet fiery with indignation. 

“ Who has taken my orange ?” he demanded imperi- 
ously. 

Cousin Rebecca looked at him a moment without 
comprehension ; then a faint flush took possession of 
her cheeks, and she echoed, falteringly : 

“Your orange, Harold ?” 

“ Yes ; the orange Dr. Fay gave me. I put it in the 
closet three days ago, and some one has taken it,” 


Vicissitudes in Harold's Career . 


i 2i 


“ I am very sorry, Harold, but I’m afraid I was the 
guilty person. I didn’t know it was yours.” 

“ Give it to me, then,” he commanded, not appreci- 
ating the real truth. 

“ I have eaten it, my dear,” she answered with the 
suspicion of a smile. 

“ Eaten it !” he roared. “ Eaten my orange ?” 

“ I had no idea it was yours. You shall have another,” 
she hastened to add, soothingly. 

But if Harold heard her at all, the words made no 
impression. The enormity of the offense had over- 
whelmed him for a moment, and now that he realized 
that it had really been committed, he stood struggling 
to find language suitable for the occasion. 

“You’re a — ” he exclaimed, and stopped; and then 
with a sudden burst of fierce resentment, as though the 
appropriate epithet had come to his relief, he continued : 
“ You’re a pouty swill-barrel !” 

Cousin Rebecca, who, in the consciousness of guilt, 
had been inclined to accept as her due a reasonable 
amount of invective, sat bolt upright, speechless at first. 

“You’re a pouty swill-barrel !” he repeated, triumph- 
antly, evidently content with the first fruits of his 
imagination. 

“ Amen !” screamed the parrot. 

“ And you’re another !” retorted Harold, glaring at 
the bird. 

“ Naughty boy !” 

It is reasonable to assume that the parrot would not 
have had the last word in this debate except for Cousin 
Rebecca’s interference. She sprang at Harold with an 
alertness that seemed incompatible with her corpulence, 


122 


The Carletons . 


and grasping him by the head and shoulders, shook him 
viciously. 

*' You bad fellow ]” she cried ; “ I’ll teach you not to 
use expressions like that ! How dare you ? Pouty, 
indeed ! If your mother had done for you what I am 
doing now, you would thank her when you’re grown up. 
But it may not be too late to whip a little sense of 
decency into you.” 

As Harold explained at a subsequent date, he had no 
idea that Cousin Rebecca was so strong. Struggle as 
he would, he was unable to escape from her clutches 
until he had undergone a thorough trouncing ; and when 
at last she released him with an exultant “ there !” he 
was fit only to drop upon the floor in a heap and blubber 
convulsively. She herself sank exhausted upon the 
sofa, leaving the paean of victory to be chanted by the 
poll-parrot. 

We may reasonably assume again that if the natural 
course of events had not been interrupted, Master 
Harold would probably have been summarily packed off 
to his home next morning, but, fortunately or unfortun- 
ately, as it may have been for all parties concerned, the 
culprit awoke next morning covered with a rash. 

“ A light case of scarlet-fever,” said Dr. Fay. 

" That comes of running out-doors in thin slippers in 
mid- winter,” observed Cousin Rebecca. 

“ Scarcely ; you can’t cook up scarlet-fever in twenty- 
four hours,” said the doctor. “ He probably took the 
germ into his system before he left town.” 

This was comforting to the old lady, for the announce- 
ment that the boy was really ill had filled her with dis- 
may and qualms of self-reproach. If running out-doors 


Vicissitudes in Harold's Career . 


123 


practically barefoot could not evoke a fever, neither 
surely could a salutary castigation. It pleased her to 
think that the illness could in no sense be laid to her 
door. Undoubtedly, Harold had contracted it before he 
left home. So she stated in notifying his mother of 
what had come to pass. 

Mrs. Carleton, of course, came hurrying out by the 
first train, ready to take possession of her baby and 
carry him off, but, rather to her surprise, Cousin 
Rebecca demurred. 

“ Take him, if you are set on it, Mary, but I guess 
hell be less trouble sick than when he was well. I’m 
not afraid of catching the fever.” 

“ It’s very kind of you to offer to keep him,” said Mrs. 
Carleton, tempted grievously by the dire consequences 
that must result from Harold’s return home, for the 
Davis ball was to come off on the morrow, and with 
scarlet-fever in the house Constance would not be able 
to go anywhere for several weeks. 

The arrival of the doctor settled matters. He said 
that the patient must not be moved. Thereupon, Mrs. 
Carleton declared that she would remain to nurse him. 
But here again she was opposed by Cousin Rebecca, 
who did not seem to take kindly to the idea of another 
inmate. 

“There’s no better nurse than Jane,” said the old 
lady, “and you’ve your own house to look after, Mary.” 

This last statement was certainly true. It would 
have been a grievous disappointment to Mrs. Carleton 
not to see her daughters dressed for their first ball, to 
say nothing of the thousand and one points connected 
with their toilets that needed her immediate supervision ; 


124 


The Carle tons. 


so she suffered herself to be overruled on condition that 
she should be informed every day how Harold was 
getting along, and telegraphed to in case of the slightest 
change for the worse. 

Cousin Rebecca made no reference to the trials which 
she had undergone during the past few days, even 
when Mrs. Carleton expressed the hope that she had 
not found him very troublesome. To this she responded 
merely by an ambiguous grunt, which rather reassured 
the fond mother than otherwise, in view of her relative’s 
habitual freedom of speech. Indeed, Mrs. Carleton 
ventured to announce on her return home that she was 
inclined to believe that Harold had quite won Cousin 
Rebecca’s heart, adding : 

“ She hadn’t a word to say against him, my dears.” 




CHAPTER XIV. 

THE DAVIS BALL. 

The evening fixed for the Davis ball, which had been 
looked forward to for so long was come at last. Even 
Bill had recovered from the fit of gloom in which he had 
been thrown by the ridicule accorded to his letter of 
acceptance, and was prepared to enjoy himself. In a 
moment of confidence Ethel had informed Violet con- 
cerning the contents of the letter, and she had returned 
home in a convulsive state and thrown herself upon the 
sofa with a handkerchief stuffed into her mouth. Bill 
had had cause to be grateful that Ben was at college, and 
that he had only one tormentor to deal with ; for 
Constance, though excessively amused in spite of herself, 
had endeavored to shield him as far as possible from the 
mirth of the household, and of Violet in particular. 
What had rankled in Bill’s mind especially was the 
imputation of greenness from having signed his name 
to an invitation couched in an impersonal form ; and for 
the same reason his blood ran cold whenever an allusion 
was made to “ contents noted.” That he, of all persons, 
who prided himself on doing everything correctly, should 
have made such compromising slips, was a rude shock ; 



126 


The Carle tons. 


and one of the chief consequences of his chagrin had been 
a sudden modification of his worship for Mr. Sanborn. 
There was a limit after all to the wisdom of his mentor, 
and it would not do for the future to trust implicitly 
in the judgment of that exemplary personage in certain 
matters. 

“ Sanborn !” ejaculated his father, when, at the time 
Bill was brought to bay, he had cited almost triumph- 
antly the old clerk’s opinion. “ Why, I don’t suppose 
Sanborn was ever at a party in his life, and knows much 
less how an invitation to one should be answered. ” 

But even Violet’s attention had been too much occupied 
by her interest in the great event to make the most of 
her opportunity to gibe at her eldest brother. Her 
thoughts were busy from morning to night with won- 
dering what it would be like, in which occupation she 
had a thoroughly sympathetic spirit in Ethel, only 
that Ethel, as Violet declared, had begun already to 
regard her as a little girl. If only she were really 
coming out, instead of being suffered to go just to a 
single party, how happy she would be. Still, she was 
determined to make the most of her single occasion. 

Nor was Constance lacking in interest, now that the 
affair was really at hand. Timorous, fluttering, but 
undeniably charming and graceful did she appear as she 
entered the drawing-room to show herself to her father 
on the evening in question. Close behind her came 
Violet, brilliant with beauty of another type, and in 
their wake followed the proud mother and the almost 
equally proud Sophia armed with cloaks and wraps. 

John Carleton sprang up from his newspaper. 

“ Bless my heart,” he exclaimed, “ how lovely you 


The Davis Ball. 


127 


look, my dears. Stand side by side and let me have a 
view of you,” 

Laughing and blushing, the sisters ranged themselves 
side by side to undergo the desired scrutiny. They 
were dressed alike in white tulle, save that, acting 
under maternal orders, the dressmaker had endeavored 
to impart to Violet’s attire a cut appropriate to a girl of 
sixteen, rather than to a full-blown maiden. But they 
looked practically the same age, and yet essentially 
distinct in type. The delighted father scarcely knew 
which to admire the more. In the countenance of 
each was discernible a natural consciousness of her 
charms, which betrayed itself, in the case of Constance, 
by the downcasting of her big brown eyes, and in 
Violet’s by the beaming serenity with which she met 
her father’s gaze. Meantime, the mother and Sophia 
pranced about in their rear, on the alert for rents or 
wrinkles, giving a dab here and a pull there at the 
gauzy skirts of their idols. 

To complete the group, Master William sauntered 
into the room at this juncture with a nonchalant air, as 
though there were nothing unusual in his appearance. 
But there was a general exclamation as he entered. 
Instinctively his father performed a salaam after the 
Oriental fashion, and his sisters curtsied to the ground, 
while, before Bill could recover from the embarrass- 
ment created by this adulation, his mother had seized 
him and led him towards the lamp, exclaiming: 

“ You’re all covered with lint. Sophia, where's that 
whisk ?” 

“ Am I ?” said he, anxiously, though it nettled him 
that a flaw should be detected in his toilet. “ I guess it 


128 


The Carletons. 


must have come from the towel. I put it round my 
neck while I brushed my hair." 

“But why didn’t you take your coat off?" asked his 
mother, as she plied the brush vigorously around his 
shoulders. 

That, apparently, had not occurred to Bill, who looked 
a little sheepish in consequence of the laughter at his 
expense which followed. 

“No matter, Bill," said his father. “You’re a 
thoroughly magnificent creature as it is. What would 
Mr. Sanborn say if he could see you now ?" 

This reminder of a tender subject evoked a gurgle of 
mirth from Violet and brought fresh roses to Bill’s 
cheeks. He was glad to transfer attention from him- 
self by admiration of his sisters. 

“You look stunning, Con; and you, too, Violet," he 
said, genuinely. 

The girls looked pleased; and by way of letting Bill 
feel in turn that his appearance was approved of, John 
Carl eton remarked, in atone of satisfaction: 

“ Those are my old studs you have on, I see." 

Bill glanced down at his bosom, on which the coral 
acorns stood forth predominantly. 

“Yes, sir; and I think they set my shirt off very 
well." 

Violet, who had gone to peep out from behind the 
window-shade, cried, excitedly, at this moment: 

“ Oh ! they have an awning." 

So it appeared. A covered passageway of striped 
material from the door of the Davises’ house to the 
curbstone had been erected, and a policeman stood on 
guard to superintend the carriages. It was a little early 


LAUGHING AND BLUSHING, THE SISTERS RANGED THEMSELVES SIDE BY SIDE . — JSeC Page 127 




The Davis Ball \ 


129 


yet ; no one had apparently arrived. Ethel had urged 
the Carletons to be sure to come among the first. 

“At what time does the party begin ?" asked Mr. 
Carleton. 

“The invitation says nine,” replied his wife. “I 
fancy, though, that that means nearer half-past." 

“ Ethel says she didn’t expect people generally would 
come until about ten," said Violet, “ but I think we 
might go at a quarter before." 

“ What’s the sense of asking people to come at nine 
and not expect them until ten ?’’ inquired the father. 

The necessity of answering this question was obviated 
by the ringing of the door-bell, which naturally 
engrossed the attention of everybody. 

There was a momentary confabulation at the door 
between the servant and whoever it was, and immedi- 
ately after Sophia entered the room with a green 
bandbox, which Mrs. Carleton, not divining its contents, 
rose to receive. 

“ Excuse me, ma’am, but it’s for Miss Constance.” 

A tag attached to the box was addressed unmistak- 
ably to Miss Constance Carleton. 

“ I know what it is," cried Violet, clapping her hands ; 
“ it’s a bouquet." 

“Yes, that is what it must be," said Mrs. Carleton, 
with quiet delight, while Constance tremulously began 
to undo the string. 

“ Bother ! Cut it !" exclaimed Violet. “ I’m crazy to 
see what’s inside. Where’s your knife, Bill ?” 

“ Let her alone," said Bill, who sympathized with a 
knot-untying spirit, and whose face wore a mysterious 
expression. 


130 


The Carle tons. 


For a few moments of suspense Constance picked at 
the knot with her fingers ; then, with a sudden impetu- 
ous “ Bother, too, I say !” forced the string over the 
edge of the box and managed to free the cover. On top 
was a quantity of gauzy paper, the removal of which 
revealed a splended mass of carmine roses. 

“ How lovely !” cried Violet. 

“ Lovely !” echoed their happy possessor, as she 
removed the bouquet from its nest and held it up to be 
admired. In the cup of one of the largest roses she 
perceived a morsel of an envelope, which proved to con- 
tain a card. 

With the compliments of 
Mr Percy White . 

read the others over her shoulder. 

A short pause followed. 

“Very thoughtful and polite of him,” murmured 
Mrs. Carleton. 

“They are heavenly !” said Violet, bending down her 
face to inhale their fragrance. “ I shouldn’t wonder if 
he were to be there!” 

“ Oh, no,” said Constance ; “ he told me the other day 
that he couldn’t get leave to come from the college 
professors. It was very nice of him, though, to send 
these,” she added, fingering shyly some sprays of fern 
that fringed the borders of the bouquet. 

No one noticed that when the flowers were disclosed 
Bill had given a start and looked bewildered, and that 
while they were being admired he had remained com- 
pletely glum. When now the door-bell rang for a second 


The Davis Ball. 


131 


time, he made a movement as though he intended to go 
out into the hall ; but he thought better of it, and sat 
gloomily down on the edge of the sofa. 

“ More flowers, perhaps,” Violet had cried, on hearing 
the bell. 

“ And I hope they're for you,” said Constance, who 
stood smelling of hers, with a happy blush on her cheek 
that was very becoming. 

“ Violet’s turn will come next year,” said their mother- 

“ It is another bouquet ! It is ! It is !” joyfully cried 
Violet, who had run to peep into the hall and now held 
open the door for the delighted Sophia to enter with a 
second florist’s box. 

“ Another for my young lady.” 

“ Who can have sent them ?” exclaimed Violet. Now 
that Percy White was accounted for, she could not 
think of any other likely person, which naturally in- 
creased her excitement tenfold. 

Constance made short work of the knot this time. 
With a plunge of her hand into the box she brought 
forth another nosegay, which was veritably one ; for, 
instead of being composed of roses only, like its pre- 
decessor, the new bouquet was radiant wiih garden 
flowers of every description — mignonettes, marigolds, 
heliotropes, peonies, dahlias, tulips and pinks. 

There was another pause, unbroken by the feminine 
portion of the family, but John Carleton cried out with 
genuine admiration : 

“ Mercy on us ! There’s a bouquet that suits my eye. 
Bravo, Constance ! What’s the fellow’s name ?” 

“ There is no card nor name that I can see, father,” 
answered Constance, who had been searching the box. 


132 


The Carletons. 


“ They are lovely, too, and so sweet — sweeter to smell 
than the roses even.” 

“ Lovely ; but they’re sort of queer, aren’t they ?” 
murmured, in her mother’s ear, Violet, who seemed let 
down a peg or two in transport at the sight of them. 
“ I wonder who sent them.” 

“ Never look a gift horse in the mouth, my dear,” was 
Mrs. Carleton’s answer. “ I think the flowers are very 
pretty.” 

“ Now, that’s what I call taste, ’’-continued her hus- 
band, who, deaf to the other comments, was examining 
the bouquet critically, with his head on one side and his 
hands in his pockets. “ There’s a model for you, young 
man, when your time comes to send a nosegay to your 
sweetheart,” he added, addressing Bill, who was still 
seated on the edge of the sofa and listening in silence 
to the different observations. His face lighted up in 
response to these cheery words, and he stepped forward 
to look, but said, in what was a mournful tone: 

“ It isn’t half so handsome as the other.” 

“ There’s where I don’t agree with you, my boy. I 
was born a country lad, and I know a good thing in 
flowers when I see it. 

“ I agree with Bill,” said Violet. “ It isn’t half so 
handsome.” 

She was about to continue, but the further expression 
of her opinion was interrupted by her mother’s pressing 
her hand. 

Mrs. Carleton had suddenly divined the truth from 
the expression on Bill’s face, and with swift good sense 
she said to her husband: 


The Davis Ball, 


133 


“I think I know the culprit, John. You have been 
singing the praises of your own son.” 

Bill turned the color of one of the peonies as all eyes 
were turned on him. 

“Yes. it was I, since you’ve guessed,” he stammered. 
“ I wasn’t going to say anything about it, though — for 
— for — I didn’t know you’d have two, and I thought it 
might please you, Con, not to go without any to your 
first party.” 

“ Oh, Bill, did you send it ? How kind of you ! And 
I never guessed it at all,” cried Constance, eagerly seek- 
ing his embrace to the imminent peril of her hair. “ I 
prefer it fifty times to the other, because you sent it,” 
she added, surveying his gift with genuine rapture, 
while her father capped her gratification by exclaiming: 

“ It does credit both to your heart and to your head, 
my son.” 

“ Indeed it does,” said his mother, proudly ; and Violet 
sought to counteract the effect of her frankness by 
saying : 

“ It is very sweet of you, Bill.” 

So much good will did much to restore his equa- 
nimity, and though he still looked ruefully at the rival 
bouquet, Bill was able to answer without bitterness : 

“ I shall know better next time. I meant it to be 
handsome, anyway. But if you’d prefer not to carry it, 
Con, leave it at home, and I sha’n’t feel in the least 
hurt.” 

“ Not carry it ? I should be broken-hearted if it were 
left at home. It is lovely, Bill — it really is. I know 
what I’d rather do,” she added eagerly. “ Here Violet, 
I’ll let you carry the other one, and I’ll take only Bill’s.” 


i34 


The Carle to ns. 


But Violet shook her head, and answered with a 
laugh : 

“You don’t suppose I’d carry a bouquet that was sent 
to somebody else, do you ? Besides, what would Percy 
White say if he saw you without it ?” 

“ If he asked where it was, I should simply say that 
two were rather heavy to carry, and that naturally I 
preferred to take the one my brother sent me.” 

“ Nonsense !” exclaimed Mrs. Carleton. “ You would 
never say anything so stupid, my dear.” 

“ Hark ! The music is beginning.” cried Violet, 
ecstatically. 

All listened, and true enough they could catch the 
strains of a piano, a violin and a cornet in lively co- 
operation. Just then two carriages came rumbling by 
and halted. Violet peeped behind the window-shade 
again. 

“ People are beginning to come ; we ought to go.” 

“ Five minutes of ten o’clock ! I should think so,” 
said John Carleton, emphatically. “I should call it an 
hour too late.” 

“ I’m ready,” said Constance, gathering up her flowers, 
while her mother and Sophia proudly swathed her in her 
new cloak trimmed with swan’s-down. 

“ I do hope you’ll all have a lovely time,” said Mrs. 
Carleton, as she followed the trio into the hall. Have 
you your gloves, Bill ?” 

“ Yes, mother.” 

“ Oh, I’ve forgotten my fan !” cried Violet, which gave 
an opportunity to Sophia to rush up the necessary three 
flights and return, panting, with that missing article. 

“ Now be moderate, my dear,” said Mrs. Carleton, as 


The Davis Ball \ 


135 


she handed the fan to her second daughter. “ Remem- 
ber you’re not out yet, and should keep in the back- 
ground.” 

“Yes, mother dear, 111 be a perfect saint. Ready, 
Bill ?” 

“ I like that, when we’ve been waiting all this time for 
you.” 

“ And don’t forget to hold your head up while you’re 
dancing, Constance.” 

“ No, mother,” Constance answered, and then looking 
back from the threshold over her shoulder, with a smile 
that was almost piteous, added, “ I’d give anything if 
I could stay at home.” 

“ Away with you,” said Mrs. Carleton, pushing her 
gently into the vestibule after the others, and closing 
the front door. 

When the two girls were ready to go down to the 
ball-room, they found Bill in a gloomy frame of mind. 
He had managed to tear a big rent in one of his kid 
gloves while putting it on. Unfortunately he had 
brought only this one pair, so there was nothing to do 
but to go down as he was. Constance tried to comfort 
him, by assuring him that it showed very little, but he 
could not help feeling uncomfortable, especially as he 
had perceived that his shirt studs, which he had fancied 
so exquisite, were very much larger than those worn by 
the other young men who were taking off their things 
at the same time as he. Theirs were mostly small 
gold studs, comparatively inconspicuous, and he thought 
he noticed several of them glance at his shirt front and 
suppress a smile. 

Not a great many people had arrived as yet. Mrs. 


136 


The CarietonS. 


Davis and her daughter stood near the foot of the stairs 
receiving. As Ethel caught sight of the Carletons she 
beamed with pleasure, and, after welcoming Constance, 
poured a flow of almost hysterical prattle into Violet’s 
ear. She said she was so glad Violet had been allowed 
to come, declared that she felt frightfully nervous, won- 
dered if people would have a good time, assured her 
that she looked perfectly lovely, all in one breath, and 
then whisked about to greet a new-comer. The next 
moment the Carletons, dazed and uncertain what to do 
or where to go, were swept along to make room for 
others. Appalled at the idea of standing alone, they 
drifted instinctively into the flank of a bevy of young 
women who, like themselves, seemed waiting for some- 
thing to happen. Here they endeavored to collect their 
senses, which the music, the lights and the unfamiliar 
scene had scattered. Violet, who had taken in scarcely 
a word of Ethel’s chatter, now scanned her for the first 
time with intelligent eyes. She seemed to her a year 
older ; she was superbly dressed, and was fairly weighed 
down by her bouquets, which Ethel had whispered were 
nine in number. Once having recovered her self- 
possession, Violet began to look about her with zest, but 
Constance felt herself painfully ill at ease. She was 
conscious of blushing profusely, and now and again to 
conceal her face, she buried it in the tops of her bou- 
quets. As for Bill, he hovered about his sisters’ skirts, 
divided between the wish not to desert them and the 
wish not to be the only one of his sex among so many 
girls, for there was a separate cluster of men on the 
other side of the room near the door. His spirits were 
oppressed by the consciousness of the rent in his glove, 


The Davis BalL 


*37 


which he labored to conceal, and the unpleasant fear 
that his shirt studs were peculiar. He would have 
liked heartily to go home, but with Constance and 
Violet to be looked after, that, alas ! was out of the 
question. 

The music, which had ceased for a few minutes, now 
recommenced, and the notes of a lively waltz induced 
dancing. Couples from the hall and the room beyond 
made their appearance, and some of the men about the 
door chose partners from the bevy of unoccupied girls 
to which Constance and Violet had attached themselves ; 
so that, by virtue of the gaps this occasioned in the 
phalanx, the Carletons were left standing with only 
three or four others. The interest inspired by the 
waltzers and the dresses took Violet’s mind off herself ; 
besides, not being out, she hardly expected attention, 
and was content to be merely an observer. But Con- 
stance, who was aware that it was considered mortify- 
ing to stand against the wall without a partner for any 
length of time, felt herself growing more and more 
uncomfortable every minute. Just as she was reflect- 
ing that if this lasted much longer she should sink 
through the floor, she became aware of a familiar voice 
in her ear, bidding her good evening and asking for 
the favor of a waltz. She blushed profusely again, this 
time with pleasure ; and before she quite knew what 
she was doing, found herself being whisked around the 
room, with her hand resting timidly on Percy White’s 
shoulder, and doing her best to hold her head up in con- 
formity with her mother’s request. At first she felt so 
shy that it was almost a torture ; then, by degrees, it 
began to be almost fun. Round and round they went, 


138 


The Carle tons. 


and every moment she gained in courage and enjoyed 
herself more, until at last, when her partner landed her 
panting in an unoccupied comer, she was radiant at her 
success. The next moment, the thought that she must 
thank him for the bouquet drew largely upon her stock 
of courage ; and she realized that the tone in which she 
said, “ It was very kind of you to send me these lovely 
flowers,” was uttered with a perfunctory, jerky gasp 
that was quite different from what she intended. 

But Percy did not seem to notice her gaucherie . He 
bowed gallantly and said that he was very glad that she 
was pleased with them, and she noticed that he seemed at 
the time to be looking at her other bouquet as if he were 
wondering who had sent it to her. At first she thought 
of telling him that it was from Bill, but she concluded, 
on the whole, not to. 

“ I didn't expect to see you here, Mr. White,” she said 
gaily, happy that the burden of thanking him was off 
her mind. 

“ I didn’t myself,” he answered, with an air of laugh- 
ing mystery. “ That is, they wouldn’t let me off. But 
where there’s a will there’s a way, Miss Constance. I 
wasn't going to miss being at your first party for fifty 
professors.” 

This was a flattering announcement ; but though 
Constance cast down her eyes, she felt that she ought 
not to be pleased. 

“But — but,” she stammered, “ what did you do ?” 

“ Do ? I did without it ; that is, their leave. I took 
French leave, as the saying is, Miss Constance.” 

“ But won’t you be found out ?” she asked gravely. 

“ Ten to one they’ll never know it ; and, if they do, 


The Davis Ball ’ 


139 


they’ll only rusticate me for a month or two, at the 
worst, and that wouldn’t trouble me very much.” 

“ I should think it would trouble you very much, 
indeed, to be rusticated.” 

“ Not compared with the pleasure I am having 
to-night in meeting you,” he answered, radiantly. 
“ Shall we not finish that waltz ?” 

Although Constance was conscious that she did not 
approve of Percy’s conduct or the light tone in which he 
spoke of its possible consequences, she was unable to 
manifest in the face of his fascinating logic a proper 
amount of disapprobation. Perhaps, even, she was only 
too glad to forget, in the delicious rhythm of the waltz, 
everything except that she was happy and enjoying her- 
self thoroughly. How beautifully he danced. How 
deftly he avoided collisions and whisked her out of reach 
of threatening elbows. She did not care to think, she 
wished only to make the most of the present, which 
seemed to her very blissful. 

After this waltz another young man, whom she had 
known at dancing-school, came up and spoke to her, 
and Percy brought up and introduced to her two or 
three of his friends, one of whom was a collegian, also ; 
so that she was not left alone once until supper was 
announced, for which Percy claimed her as his partner, 
and during which he never left her side, except to min- 
ister to her wants in the way of oysters and ice cream. 

When they returned to the ball-room, they found it 
equipped with chairs for the german, which Constance 
had consented to dance with him. While Percy was in 
the act of fastening two of the chairs together with his 


140 


The CarletonSs 


handkerchief, in order to secure them, she suddenly 
started, and exclaimed, in a contrite tone : 

“ Oh, how selfish I am !” 

He looked up wonderingly at her agitated counte- 
nance. 

“ My sister !” she exclaimed, glancing earnestly 
round the room. “ Where is she ? What has become 
of her ?” 

“ She is not lost, I fancy.” 

“ No. But it is too terrible ; I have not thought of 
her once. You must take me to her.” 

Just at that instant, while horrible visions of Violet 
stranded and supperless were haunting her imagination, 
that young woman entered the room. She was on the 
arm of Randolph Davis, but another cavalier walked at 
her other side, and in her train followed two more 
admirers, who, as soon as she halted, claimed part of 
her attention. The young girl struck even her sister 
as having suddenly become a most lovely being. She 
held herself proudly erect, her white shoulders gleamed 
like alabaster, her dark eyes sparkled with animation, 
and the flush of excitement that tinged her cheeks 
gave to her complexion just the hue it needed to appear 
exquisitely beautiful. She was evidently entertaining 
with gay badinage the semi-circle which had formed in 
front of her, and to which another slave added himself 
at the moment she caught Constance’s eye. 

The two girls exchanged beatific nods, each radiant 
at perceiving the other so well provided for. But in 
Constance’s thoughts, as she gazed, concern for Violet’s 
whereabouts gave place to marvel and admiration, and 
then, as she noted her sister’s magnificent pose and the 


The Davis Ball \ 


141 


fascinating yet almost imperious air with which she 
already queened it over the cluster of young men who 
seemed to be hanging upon her every word, a shade of 
concern of a different kind obtruded itself. Was the 
princess-like young person who, as it were, had the 
world at her feet, the tall, gawky and almost plain 
Violet of a few years ago ? If so, what was to come 
hereafter ? What was to be the sequel of so wonderful 
an. evolution — joy or sorrow ? 




CHAPTER XV. 

IN THE SMALL HOURS. 

u I think you may free your mind from all solicitude 
concerning Miss Violet/* said Percy, with a laugh, look- 
ing out upon the dancers. “ She seems eminently well 
fitted to take care of herself, I should say. She is so 
signal a success that it seems a pity she is not to come 
out for another year. I had really no idea she was so 
handsome.” 

“ She looks lovely to-night ; but she is only seventeen, 
Mr. White.** 

“ The men who are talking to her look as though they 
would pardon that,*’ he answered, blithely. 

It was time now for the german to begin. When the 
couples had ranged themselyes around the room, Con- 
stance was pleased to see that Bill, of whom, also, in her 
absorption, she had become oblivious, had a partner. 
But she judged, from the expression of his face, that he 
was still down-hearted, and when she happened to 
catch sight of his glove, she apprehended the cause* 
Poor Bill ! His cup was full. The rent had spread 
itself until it was a chasm, and he seemed completely 
engrossed by the problem how best to conceal his hand 



In the Small Hours . 


143 


from view. Moreover, his doubts concerning his studs 
and the variegated bouquet, had gradually become 
certainties in his mind, for no other youth in the room 
wore studs of a similar pattern in his shirt bosom, and 
no other bouquet was composed of garden flowers only. 
He felt that the eyes of the entire company must be 
fixed derisively upon him, 

The german, which began gayly, waxed gayer still. 
Percy remained unremitting in his devotion, and Con- 
stance was taken out two or three times by men who, 
attracted by her interesting face, had asked to be intro- 
duced to her. But she was scarcely a belle in the 
accepted sense of that word. It was Violet, rather, who 
was entitled to be called so, upon whom the laurels of 
the evening, in the form of favors and bouquets, were 
showered until her plain white dress was fairly gay 
with ribbons and other decorations, and her lap laden 
with flowers. Her beauty and fascination prompted 
man after man to be presented to her, and to return 
again and again to admire not only her charms of person 
but her piquancy and sprightliness as well. Ever in 
her vicinity hovered Randolph Davis, indolent and 
handsome, and ready to whisper in her ear languid 
utterances of a kind that flattered, because at the same 
time he made her believe that all the rest of womankind 
was beneath his notice. Radiant and triumphant, she 
stood, as the last figure of the german came to an end 
at ten minutes to two, the center of an adoring half- 
dozen, and watched by many other eyes spell-bound by 
her beauty, none the less striking because one of the 
bands of her hair had become loosened and had dropped 
a little. Transported by excitement, so that time was 


144 


The Carletons . 


naught to her, she was unaware at first of the hand laid 
on her shoulder. It required also her sister’s voice, 
suggesting that it was time to go, before she heeded. 

“ Oh, Constance, we needn’t go just yet. It isn’t late.” 

“ It is two o’clock.” 

“ Two ! How can it be ?” 

The genuineness of her surprise took by storm the 
already captivated group. 

“ You musn’t think of going,” said one. “ Now is the 
very cream of the evening,” said another ; while Ran- 
dolph Davis cried with an imploring glance : “ Just one 
more waltz, Miss Constance. Let her have one more.” 

At this moment the musicians began to play again one 
of the most entrancing of airs. 

“ I must have one more. Just one, and I will come,” 
said Violet, and with a happy nod at Constance, she laid 
her hand on Randolph’s shoulder, and went spinning 
down the room. 

Constance herself was prevailed on by Percy White 
to imitate her example. She felt too happy not to accept 
so plausible an excuse for dallying. But the end of the 
waltz came at last, and with it she felt obliged to take 
possession of Violet and snatch her from the custody of 
her worshipers, a trio of whom followed her to the foot 
of the flight leading up to the dressing-room, bearing 
her flowers and favors. 

“ Good-bye, for a year,” she cried, waving her fan over 
the banisters, with a mock despair that was yet real. 

“ What cruelty }” 

“ It must not be !” 

“We will reason with your mother !” 


In the Small Hours . 


145 


So answered as many voices following her up the 
stairs. 

“ Oh, Bill, I’m so sorry,” gasped Constance, perceiving 
suddenly, as she reached the top, her brother, whom she 
had told half an hour before to go up and that she would 
be ready in a minute. “ I really didn’t mean to keep 
you waiting.” 

“ It’s ten minutes past two. What will mother say ?” 
replied their natural protector, who was standing on the 
threshold of the dressing-room, consulting his precious 
silver time-piece with a severe brow. “ You seem to for- 
get that while you can lie in bed, I have to get up to 
business in the morning, as usual.” 

“All my fault, Bill. Oh, I’ve had a lovely time — 
gorgeous. See all these !” exclaimed Violet, showing 
her trophies. 

“ S-h,” murmured Constance, realizing that such an 
ebullition of spirits might be diverting if overheard in 
the men’s dressing-room. 

“ I have ; I don’t care who knows it.” 

At the foot of the stairs Percy and Randolph were 
both waiting with their overcoats on. During the short 
passage from house to house Bill saw fit, eminently to 
the disgust of his elder sister’s admirer, to stick by her 
side ; but while he was fumbling with the door-key, 
Percy managed to whisper : 

“ Will you not spare me a single flower ?” 

He had asked that question of her twice before that 
evening ; once she had pretended not to hear, once she 
had laughed and shaken her head, now she hesitated for 
a moment, and her fingers trembled as they played with 
the leaves of her bouquet. 


146 


The Carle tons. 


“ Please — just one.” 

The trembling fingers detached a bud ; the timid eyes 
made sure that no one was looking. Violet was occu- 
pied in the rear, and Bill still fumbling with the key. 

“ Thank you so much ! I shall keep it forever. Good- 
night.” 

She caught these words, and by the flare of light 
from the now opened doorway, Constance thought she 
saw Percy kiss the flower. But she preferred to think 
that he was simply raising his hat. Not many paces 
away, another dialogue was taking place. While Con- 
stance had almost scurried home, it had pleased Violet 
to saunter at a gait which suited her escort habitually. 
She insisted on carrying all her belongings herself, and 
he was not the sort of youth to insist on being useful. 
After she had taken a step or two beyond the awning, a 
big rose which had been given her in the german, and 
which she had stuck loosely into her dress, chanced to 
fall to the ground. Randolph picked it up and placed 
it calmly in his button-hole. 

“ I am going to keep this,” he said. 

“ You may, if you like. It will be faded to-morrow.” 

“ I ought to say, I suppose, that I would press it and 
keep it,” he murmured, lazily. 

“ I don't believe you’re such a goose,” Violet answered, 
with a laugh and a toss of her head. 

“In that case,” he replied, with the same languid 
utterance, “ I change my mind. I will press and keep 
it.” 

“ Then give it to me.” She stopped, and faced him 
beamingly. 

“ And what if I refuse ?” 


In the Small Hours . 


H 7 


“ Give it to me, Mr. Davis !" The tone was of com- 
mand, not supplication. 

“ May I have it, if I ask for it humbly ?" 

“ Can you be humble ? Let me see you try." 

Randolph, whose ulster, thrown across his shoulders, 
had rather the effect of a cavalier’s cloak, dropped 
gracefully on one knee on the sidewalk, and held out the 
rose. 

“I crave it on my bended knee," he said, with 
unembarrassed gallantry. 

Violet tittered with amusement. 

“ How absurd you are ! Oh, keep it, if you like," she 
cried, and therewithal she slipped past him, and ran 
laughing up the steps behind her sister. 

So, the Davis ball was at an end, and all that remained 
was to talk it over. 




CHAPTER XVI. 

HOW THE WINTER FARED WITH THE CARLETON PROGENY. 

The chief consequence of talking it over was that 
Violet was allowed to come out, after all. The young 
girl’s importunities, fortified by her enthusiasm and 
triumphant experience, weakened somewhat Mrs. 
Carleton’s resolution ; and when these were reinforced 
by representations from a dozen different quarters that 
it would be a shame to keep back a girl so thoroughly 
suited to grace society, and who had already achieved a 
brilliant success, her mother exclaimed with a sigh at 
last : 

" Oh, well, have your own way, my dear. Perhaps it 
is as well that you should be going to parties as dream- 
ing about them.” 

So there were two Carleton girls in society instead of 
one, and dressmakers were more rampant than ever in 
the Carleton establishment, which was inopportune, for 
Harold was at home again, none the more sober 
because of his late experience. 

That experience had ended far otherwise than 
seemed probable. The fever, a not severe case in itself, 
had come in the nick of time for Master Harold, since 



How the Winter Fared, 


149 


it became the means of making Cousin Rebecca his 
devoted slave. As his mother had implied, when 
Harold chose, he could be angelic ; and when angelic it 
was next to impossible to resist him. One of these 
phases, during which butter would not melt in his 
mouth, came over him after the fever had left him, and 
he lay weak but convalescent in the abode of the 
enemy. 

Actuated by a stern sense of duty, Cousin Rebecca 
had tended him during a fortnight of discomfort, 
endured his caprices and slaved for him without a 
murmur, and, as a consequence, was already disposed 
to regard him with more favorable eyes in spite of her- 
self. 

Hitherto her fostering care had been bestowed solely 
on parrots and poodles ; hence it was surprising to her 
that a sneaking affection for this ruthless boy of thir- 
teen should begin to take hold of her withered heart- 
strings. Yet it came to pass that when, beginning to 
recover but unable to do more than sit up, the angelic 
fit took possession of him, and he was for days at a time 
affectionate in tone and saintly in behavior and appear- 
ance, the enemy suddenly found herself in his thrall. 
From this time forth she could not do enough for him, 
and nothing was too good for him ; and in keeping with 
the saying, “ like mistress, like maid,” the entire house- 
hold, Jane, the cook and the choreman, his admirers in 
secret, perhaps, before, fell at his feet openly. 

Accordingly, Harold returned home with the light of 
triumph on his brow. Besides a letter which celebrated 
his praises and cast palpable slurs upon his brothers and 
sisters, Harold bore as a pledge of his mistress’s esteem 


The Carle tons. 


150 


a young canary in a cage, that was guaranteed to 
become a warbler, a new pair of skates and a ten-dollar 
bill to put in the bank. 

“ Here is the heir. Come, let us kill him and divide 
his inheritance among us,’* said Ben, who was passing 
Sunday at home. 

When the cat was let out of the bag, and the family 
learned from Harold’s own lips the episode of the 
orange, there was a hilarious outburst, which culminated 
finally in an agreement that Harold on the whole had 
earned his good fortune by his ingenuity in coining 
epithets. 

“ I thought myself pretty fair in that line,” remarked 
Ben, “but you have a positive genius for it, fratello 
viiol * 

Ben was studying Italian ; hence this little ebullition 
in a foreign tongue. He had conceived, the idea that 
it would be a good plan to know that language in order 
to read about pictures. It was not one of the studies of 
the Freshman year, but somehow Ben had seen fit to 
become a free lance in the way of acquiring knowledge. 
College life had snuffed out all his interest in Greek and 
Latin and mathematics, and at the same time he 
thought he had discovered that he was so well prepared 
in these branches that he would have to do very little 
work in order to keep up to the mark in them. He was 
becoming interested in fifty dozen things that were not 
required. Already he was an aspirant for the baseball 
nine ; bent upon distinguishing himself later in private 
theatricals ; curious as to the mysteries of secret socie- 
ties, concerning which dark hints were dropped by his 
classmates from time to time ; absorbed by the interest 


How the Winter Fared. 


I5i 


of coloring a meerschaum pipe ; and addicted to sitting 
up late at night reading whatever he could lay his 
hands on in the way of literature — fiction, poetry, biog- 
raphy or the drama. 

He and Harrison Fay exchanged frequent letters, and 
philosophized about life in general. Harrison was deep 
in science of every kind, and disposed to combat with 
what he called stem and incontrovertible facts the poetic 
periods that flowed from Ben’s pen. On the other hand, 
Ben accused Harrison of wishing to demonstrate life to 
be a mechanism and men and women mere machines. 
Accordingly they hammered away at each other at the 
rate of ten or a dozen pages of note-paper weekly, and 
collected material for their diatribes in the intervals. 

Although Ben was but a Freshman and Percy White 
a magnificent Sophomore, they saw a good deal of each 
other and were friends. Ben delighted in Percy’s easy- 
going, frank ways, and Percy, in turn, found Ben clever 
and stimulating. He, too, was a good deal of a night 
owl, and, under the guise of exercising a protector’s eye 
over the Freshman, would drop into Ben's room many 
an evening for half an hour’s chat before going to bed. 
Percy said that it did him good to change his atmos- 
phere occasionally, which had become far from studi- 
ous or literary or philosophical, but was on the contrary 
lively and volatile, and promised to become reckless. 
For Percy was traveling with the liveliest set in the 
class, and was, moreover, one of the liveliest and at the 
same time most popular men of the set. When he was 
not hazing Freshmen or playing pranks on the faculty 
or cutting recitations or “ ragging ” tradesmen’s signs, 
he was scanning the list of studies to make out which 


152 


The Carle tons. 


was the very easiest elective in order to take it, or else 
was one of a leisurely half-dozen deep in easy-chairs 
smoking and spinning yams, when he ought to have 
been at his books. He was in famous spirits at this 
period, and life looked very bright, for while he was 
aware, and sometimes remorsefully aware, that he was 
wasting his time, he consoled himself by the vague 
answer that he was going to have all the fun he could 
for four years, and that then he would settle down as a 
hard worker. For, after all, there was no need of haste 
in his case, seeing that his father was a rich and driving 
man who was amply able to support him for a moderate 
spell of idleness, and push him rapidly ahead when he 
was ready to go into business. Not that for a moment 
Percy contemplated an idle existence. To hear him talk 
of his future at such moments as he let himself out in 
his midnight talks with Ben, one would have fancied 
there was no limit to his ambition. He was a profound 
believer in his own abilities to accomplish what he set 
his mind on ; not conceitedly so in an unpleasant sense, 
but merely it never seemed to occur to him to doubt 
that the moment he chose to try — really to try — he 
would overcome obstacles and forge splendidly ahead. 
Had not his father done so ? Why should not he, who 
had twenty-fold more advantages than his father had 
enjoyed in the way of education, accomplish proportion- 
ately more ? 

So, with these high hopes seething in his brain, he was 
content for the present to rolic and sing songs, and give 
free vent to his animal spirits, especially as he was. in 
love with the most charming girl in the world, who 
would be sure to keep him from doing anything very 


How the Winter Fared. 


153 


bad, and whom he intended to marry as soon as he left 
college and settled down. He was proud of having 
chosen her, and proud of her as the sweetest and loveli- 
est and noblest woman whom he had ever seen. He 
was sure of that, and he felt that for her sake there was 
nothing he would not endure. What were college rules 
where she was concerned ? If Leander swam the Hel- 
lespont, surely he could afford to run the risk of being 
rusticated, in order to dance the german with her. 

But fortune favored Percy in this particular instance. 
His absence from college was not discovered, and the 
rosebud which his sweetheart had given him con- 
sequently wore no thorns. He was in high feather for 
days after, and he let it be whispered about how cleverly 
he had hoodwinked the authorities, and, later on in the 
week, his exultation inspired him to build a mammoth 
bonfire under the very eye of the faculty chamber, from 
the peril of detection connected with which he managed 
to escape scot-free. 

Meanwhile, each of the Carleton girls was enjoyingher 
first winter in society more than she had expected, by 
which is meant that Constance did not, on the whole, 
detest going out, and Violet found her anticipations 
thrown into the shade by reality. It was rather hard 
for Constance at the first few parties not to have her 
principal adorer present, and the contrast between the 
consciousness that some one was there who was desper- 
ately devoted to her, and knowing that the men who 
talked and danced with her thought her simply a very 
nice girl, was rather trying. Not that she was a wall- 
flower. She made a good many pleasant friends, who 
almost invariably spoke to her evening after evening ; 


154 


The Carletons . 


and though not a belle like Violet, she had no reason to 
feel heart-sore on account of neglect. The main diffi- 
culty was that after the novelty had worn off, she found 
that she did not care very much about going, and 
naturally the fact that she was bored detracted from 
her power to please ; so that she occasionally returned 
home declaring that she was never going again. But 
somehow she kept on going ; could it be that the hope 
that Percy would appear some evening lured her from 
festivity to festivity ? A young woman’s heart is diffi- 
cult to fathom ; but does it seem likely, considering she 
had made up her mind, after mature reflecting, that he 
had done very wrong in coming to the Davis ball 
against the orders of the faculty, and that she had done 
very wrong in giving him that rose-bud ? She had asked 
herself a hundred times why she had given it to him, and 
had never been able to obtain a satisfactory explanation. 
Certainly she would be glad to see him again ; but if he 
broke the college rules a second time for her sake, 
she intended to show him what she really thought of 
such a thing. 

She did not have this opportunity, for the next time 
Percy appeared was by permission duly granted. The 
winter recess of two weeks had begun, and he was to 
spend it at home. Not only he, but Ben, who arrived 
with a tall hat and a cane, and was altogether so 
“ transmogrified,” as Violet phrased it, as to be almost 
unrecognizable. He was still thin and spindly,' but he 
had an air about him that suggested progress, and 
which prompted Mrs. Carleton to say next day to her 
eldest son : 

" Now do, Bill, follow Ben’s example and buy a 


How the Winter Fared . 


155 


beaver. That gray slouch hat you wear is really 
shabby.” 

“ Yes, do, Bill,” echoed Violet, for the gray slouch 
hat had come to be almost a family grievance. Even 
Constance added : 

“ I think a beaver would be very becoming to you, 
Bill.” 

William blushed, but looked dogged. To buy a tall 
hat would be to abandon completely the principles 
which he had adopted at the beginning of his business 
career, and which it seemed to him that he had been 
forsaking one after another. A swallow-tail coat had 
been bad enough, but a tall hat would be a crowning 
stroke. Yet in his inner consciousness he yearned to 
wear one, and though he left the house defiantly 
that morning in the old gray slouch, he came down- 
stairs dressed for church on Easter Sunday, in a glossy 
tile and a brand-new pair of yellow kids. 

From this time forward, Bill’s evolution in the way 
of toilet was rapid. Having forsaken his principles, 
there was soon no limit but the size of his bank account 
to the decoration of his person. He changed his tailor, 
and instead of jackets that were suitable to a lad of 
sixteen, appeared in flawless coats, and trousers of which 
the central crease indicated careful folding. The coral 
studs had long ago been banished, and the silver turnip, 
before another year was over, was supplanted by a gold 
stem-winder, bought from his earnings. His special 
fads, however, began to be boots and neckties, of both 
of which his stock was soon more than ample. 

His steadiness at the office was in no whit abated by 
these changes in his outward appearance, and Mr. San- 


156 


The Carle tons. 


born, though possibly alarmed at first, was able to 
detect no falling off in punctuality or methodical 
devotion on the part of the son of the house. Meantime, 
the figures in his savings-bank book were constantly 
increasing in importance, for he had now a salary of 
eight hundred dollars, from which, by a little parsimony, 
he was able to save a handsome slice. By the time his 
taste for boots and scarfs was fully developed, that 
amount had been swelled to a thousand dollars a year. 

Also, in the course of the next twelve-months, Bill’s 
attitude towards society underwent a change. During 
the first winter subsequent to his fiasco at the Davis 
ball, he frequented parties under pressure, as the escort 
of his sisters, and played the part of a shy, stolid youth 
who found difficulty in making up his mind to talk to 
anybody ; and when he did, had very little to say. But 
familiarity will sometimes breed audacity in place of 
contempt, and instead of despising parties, Bill, by the 
middle of the second winter, had grown to look upon 
them with positive favor, and to figure at them as rather 
a swell. He had become very particular as to the iron- 
ing of his shirt bosoms and the immaculate arrange- 
ment of his white tie, and when he appeared in full 
evening dress, he was really a very stylish-looking 
fellow. His whiskers, which had grown out to the 
proper length, were groomed by him with tender 
solicitude, and he might have had a mustache had he 
not preferred to keep the expression of his firm upper 
lip unimpaired. He could now talk without embarrass- 
ment to such young women as he favored with his 
society, and moreover, his society was adjudged desirable 
by the most fastidious petticoats. When Ethel expressed 


How the Winter Fared, 


157 


herself on the subject to Violet by saying: “ I never 
saw such a change in anybody as in your brother 
William,” Violet felt that she need no longer dread lest 
he would do something peculiar, which was a fear that 
had haunted her at parties all that first winter. 




CHAPTER XVII. 

THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 

Of that first winter, and, indeed, of a second, not 
much needs to be written in order to chronicle the 
doings of the Carleton family. At least, whatever is 
requisite to be known about them will appear suffi- 
ciently, in one form or another, if the next two years 
are passed over without further description, and we 
think of them and their friends again as that much 
older; that is to say, of Constance as twenty-one, 
of Violet as nearly twenty, of Bill as twenty-three, 
enjoying one thousand dollars per annum, of Ben a 
junior in college, of Percy White a senior, of Ethel 
Davis no taller but more patrician than ever, of Harold 
on the verge of seventeen, of Cousin Rebecca Hubbard 
not yet defunct, of Harrison Fay almost a civil engineer, 
of Randolph Davis dropped from college and indolent 
and handsome as of yore, of Mr. and Mrs. Short still 
next-door neighbors, and of J ohn Carleton and his wife 
busier than ever with hopes and fears for their pro- 
geny. 

Said John to his wife one evening when, as not 


The Course of Trice Love . 


159 


infrequently happened, the children were out and they 
were left at home to sit up for them : 

“ I suppose you know what you’re about, Mary, in 
allowing Violet and Randolph Davis to carry on as they 
do ? I passed near them this afternoon strolling in one 
of the by-ways of the Park, but they were so occupied 
with each other they didn’t see me.” 

“ Indeed, John, I am very much disturbed on that 
score, since you ask me,” she answered, laying down 
her fancy-work — a skate -bag she was embroidering for 
Harold, whom she was still fain to call her baby. “I 
didn’t suppose you had noticed. It has troubled me 
very much for some time, because, whatever the out- 
come, it is likely so far as I can see to be disastrous. If 
he really wishes to marry her — I cannot bear the idea 
of it — but if he does, I tremble to think of the future ; 
and, if he is only flirting with her — well, I only hope 
that Violet, poor child, is not so much infatuated as I 
fear she may be.” 

“ It has been going on now off and on for nearly two 
years ; time enough, I should think, for any one to make 
up his mind in. I may be absorbed in my business, but 
I am not stone-blind. The deacon, your father, would 
never have allowed a young man to dilly-dally round 
one of his daughters without asking him to give an 
account of himself, and I guess it’s about time for me 
to put my oar in and find out how the case stands.” 

Mrs. Carleton shook her head. 

“ It wouldn’t do at all, John. Young people nowadays 
have to settle those matters between themselves, so far 
at least, as making up their minds whether they wish to 
marry each other or not. If you were to ask Randolph 


i6o 


The Ccirletons. 


Davis what his intentions were, he would like as not 
look as innocent as possible and say that he didn’t 
understand what you meant.” 

“ In which case I should tell him pretty quickly that 
his room was better than his company, so far as my 
daughters are concerned.” 

“ And what would be the result ? He would inform 
Violet that he was forbidden to have anything to do 
with her, and she would consequently be fifty times 
more anxious to see him. They would correspond and 
meet secretly, and all chance of influencing her through 
an appeal to her good sense and right-mindedness 
would be gone. I agree with you, J ohn, that this must 
not be allowed to go on ; but how to remedy the evil, 
without driving Violet to commit some folly, is keeping 
my mind on the stretch day and night. I have hinted to 
her in pretty plain language once or twice what I thought 
of him, but whenever I introduce the subject, she 
changes it at once, so that I am kept in the dark as to 
what her real feelings are. I can only surmise, but I 
must say that I have every reason to fear that she is 
very much interested in him. What is much more 
doubtful is whether he is in earnest regarding her ; and 
assuming that he is, the problem arises as to what we 
are to say when she comes to us with the announce- 
ment that he has asked her to marry him. Are we to 
refuse our consent and take the consequences, or let 
her marry this man and lay up unhappiness for herself ? 
What will the consequences be ? We cannot prevent 
her marrying him if she sees fit, for he has all the money 
he wants from his father ; and, while I do not appre- 
hend that Violet would marry him immediately in the 




CONSTANCE PUT HER ARMS AROUND 


BILL’S neck. - See Page 170 . 

















































































, « 

t 




















































The Course of Trtie Love % 


161 


face of our united opposition, you know what a perti- 
nacious girl she is when she has set her mind on any- 
thing. Then, too, she will have the support of the 
world — the social world that is ; for to marry into the 
Davis family would be considered generally a brilliant 
match, and so it would be, from the point of view of 
position and wealth. There is where I feel guilty, 
John ; I ought to have nipped this affair in the bud, and 
I blame myself for being so egregiously weak as to be 
flattered that he should be paying attention to her, 
when I knew at heart that he was not the sort of man I 
wished my daughter to be intimate with. I tried to 
distinguish between a desirable partner for the german 
and a desirable man for a husband, though I might 
have realized, had I not been vain, how quickly the one 
may lay pretensions to become the other.” 

“ Which means,” said her husband, “ that you don’t 
think much of him.” 

“ How can I think much of a young man who has no 
occupation, who has been dropped from college for idle- 
ness, and whose sole ambition seems to be to divide his 
time between the club and the ball-room ? Handsome 
he is, I admit, and graceful and good-mannered, and 
more’s the pity, for those are factors that argue with a 
girl to whom they happen to appeal far more power- 
fully than the most flawless logic. No, John, to tell you 
the truth, I am sore perplexed,” 

“ She doesn’t marry him ; that’s flat.” 

“ With all my heart. But it will not do to tell her so 
in that fashion. We must have patience, John ; and, 
above all, retain her confidence, if possible.” 


162 


The Carletons . 


“ Humph ! I have been patient for two years. How 
about the other one ? 

“ Constance ? 

“ Yes. Did you fancy that I had failed to notice that 
Percy White spends a large portion of time at this 
house ?” 

“ So do several other young men.” 

“ Gammon ! You don’t pretend to tell me that he is 
not devoted to Constance ?” 

“ They are friends, of course.” Mrs, Carleton 
paused and broke into a laugh. “ You do notice more, 
John, than I give you credit for sometimes. I dont 
really know any more about it, though, than you do. 
If my daughters don’t see fit to confide their love affairs 
to me, I can’t compel them to, though it is sometimes a 
little hard to have them sit like graven images, and 
when you ask a harmless question, say, 1 1 don’t know 
what you mean, mother,’ or, ‘ really, I haven’t the least 
idea, mother.* I used to have an idea that when the 
time came I should be consulted and kept posted as to 
what was going on ; but, come to think of it, I was just 
about as secretive at the same age, and if any one men- 
tioned your name, John, I was prepared to shut up like 
an oyster. I fancy the poor child doesn’t know her own 
mind. What should you say to him for a son-in-law ?” 

“ He isn't good enough for her.” 

“ But is any one ?” 

John Carleton shoved his hands into his pockets, 

“ I’ve never seen the man yet,” he said. 

“ I am very fond of Percy,” Mrs. Carleton continued, 
reflectively. " He is warm-hearted, bright and amiable, 
and I believe he has excellent abilities to succeed in 


The Co2irse of True Love. 


1 63 


whatever he undertakes, if only he will utilize them or 
undertake something worth while. But at present he 
is too much of a flibbertigibbit and too volatile. He 
glories in his narrow escapes from punishment and 
even in punishment itself ; and though Ben is very 
loyal to him and says little, I can see that he does not 
approve of the way in which Percy wastes his time. 
While it will not be necessary, from the bread-and- 
butter point of view, for him to work, I dare say, as his 
father is such a rich man, still 1 should be very sorry to 
think that he was going to be content simply with 
amusing himself. Until that is clear, I shall feel in no 
hurry to encourage his courtship ; for I have very little 
question, John, that he is in love with Constance. As I 
have intimated, she avoids all reference to the subject, 
and consequently I cannot say what her real feelings 
are, but I fancy she likes him better than she is aware. 
Provided that he sobers down after leaving college, she 
might easily do worse. I don’t know, my dear, which 
is the most serious responsibility, daughters or sons.” 

“ They are both expensive enough,” sighed the father. 
“ What with dressmakers’ bills and carriage bills for the 
girls, and Ben’s tuition fees and secret-society assess- 
ments, and Harold’s schooling, I sometimes get pretty 
desperate. Still, though I do not lay up anything, I 
have managed thus far to keep my head above water. 
God grant, after all our trouble and anxiety, that they 
turn out men and women who will be a comfort to us.” 

“ I have no fears that they will not turn out well in 
the end, John. They are young and foolish, but if we 
can save them from fatal errors during the next few 
years, I feel sure that we shall be proud of them sooner 


164 


The Car let 011s. 


or later. What I feel more concerned about, my hus- 
band, is that you should have to work so hard and that 
our expenses are so heavy. That is the only real mar to 
my happiness. When I see you come home at night 
looking so tired, I sometimes say to myself that we will 
pack up and go back to the country ; only I really 
believe you would be sorry to go back to Highlands 
yourself, John.” 

“ I should, Mary. I have become fond of the bricks 
and mortar, in spite of myself. You needn’t bother 
about me, dear. Overwork is an American father’s pre- 
rogative, and I am growing gray in a good cause. There 
they come,” he added, detecting the sound of a latch-key 
at the front-door, which was followed by the pounding 
of feet and murmur of voices. 

“ Come in and tell us all about it !” cried Mrs. Carle- 
ton. 

“ There isn’t much to tell, mother. Same old story,” 
said Ben, who was the first to enter, with his opera-hat 
perched on the back of his head and his scarf still about 
his neck. He had been going out every night during 
this second week of his college recess, which was just at 
an end. 

Violet, who followed him, exclaimed mechanically, as 
though she were reciting a multiplication table, while 
she stood releasing her black lace fichu from her head 
and neck : 

“I danced with Mr. Botsford, Walter Parker, Mr. 
Smiles, Mr. Davis and Harry Adams. I got six german 
favors and two bouquets, which I forgot to bring home. 
Good-night, mother. Good-night, father.” 

Thereupon, having performed in this perfunctory 


The Caurse of True Love . 


165 


manner what was expected of her, she went upstairs 
with a weary air. 

“ She looks pale,” said her mother, breaking the pause 
that followed Violet's sombre departure, and she glanced 
appealingly at her eldest daughter, whose brow, how- 
ever, though it reflected sympathy, remained sphinx- 
like. 

Constance had perplexities of her own, but they were 
forgotten for the time in concern for the Ugly Duck- 
ling. She had noticed for a fortnight past the growing 
devotion of Randolph Davis for Miss Lina Harwood, a 
beauty of a type not unlike Violet’s, and an heiress to 
boot. He had seemed hitherto to share his attentions 
between the two with mathematical fairness, but this 
evening, after shaking hands ceremoniously with his old 
flame, he had retired into a corner with the new one, and 
never quitted her side. Constance had been glad to see 
how indifferent Violet had appeared, notwithstanding, 
and that she had even seemed to be in rampant spirits, 
and to be enjoying herself more than usual. But when, 
after they had got into the carriage, she heard her speak, 
she realized, from her listless tone, that she had been 
merely playing a part, and her sisterly heart bled in 
consequence. 

Bill followed Constance upstairs, carrying her wraps. 
He had a habit of dropping into her room before going 
to bed, after a party, and talking over the affairs of 
society in particular, and the problems of life — com- 
monly his own life — in general. Constance, as was her 
wont, threw herself upon her bed with her hands clasped 
under her head. To tell the truth, so absorbed was she by 
Violet’s unhappiness, to say nothing of her own affairs, 


'The Carletons. 


1 66 


which were perplexing her, she would have preferred to 
be alone despite her devotion to Bill and her fondness 
for these midnight confabulations. Although Violet 
had never said a word to her about Randolph Davis, she 
had some time ago guessed the truth that her sister was 
no longer heart-whole ; and while she herself had never 
much believed in Randolph, she had accepted him as her 
sister’s lover, without a doubt as to his sincerity. But 
now the dreadful idea was thrust upon her that he had 
been merely flirting with Violet, an enormity of which 
the thought made her quiver with indignation from 
head to foot. 

The sight of Bill sitting on the edge of the sofa, 
recalled her, however, to his requirements. She knew 
that he was waiting for her to introduce a topic in which 
he was deeply interested, so she said : 

“ I thought she looked particularly pretty this even- 
ing.” 

“ Who ?” asked Bill, who, though he understood her 
meaning perfectly well, was sometimes capricious, and 
chose to appear obtuse on these occasions. 

“ Why, Ethel, of course. I saw you dancing with her 
two or three times.” 

“She had two other bouquets,” he answered, gloomily. 
“ Harry Salter sent one, I suppose, and I wonder who 
sent the other. She seemed to be pleased, though, with 
mine ; she spoke about them. I don’t think she ought 
to have seemed pleased unless she liked me a little.” 

“ No-o, perhaps not,” said Constance, doubtfully. 
“ But, you remember, you were provoked the last time 
you sent her flowers because she didn’t refer to them at 
all,” 


The Course of True Love . 


167 


Bill squirmed in his seat, uneasily. 

“ I can’t make out,” he said, “ whether she hates me 
or not.” 

“ She doesn’t hate you, Bill ; I m sure of that.” 

“Of course, she doesn’t hate me literally. But it’s 
the same thing if I bore her. Sometimes I think I do, 
for when I ve been talking and she has had to answer, 
she hasn’t always been able to without showing that 
she hadn’t been listening. If she were very much in- 
terested in me I think she’d always listen, don’t you ?” 

“Y-e-s — she ought to, of course. But it may have 
been an accident. She might not have been feeling 
well. For instance, the other evening my slipper hurt 
me so, that I scarcely knew what anybody was saying.” 

Here was a crumb of comfort for Bill, which he rolled 
over in his mind for a moment. Then he responded in 
rather a melancholy tone : 

“ It has happened twice at least. Her slipper couldn’t 
have hurt her every time.” But, he added, more cheerily: 
“ One point I have noticed, though ; she remembers con- 
versations we’ve had a long time before. Only to-night 
she was reminding me of something I’d said six months 
ago, and which I’d quite forgotten. It shows she does 
notice sometimes. Don’t you think it rather a good 
sign ?” 

“ Indeed, I do ; a very good sign.” 

“On the other hand,” argued Bill, with a second 
squirm, “ whenever I try to say anything that’s — er — 
flattering — er — complimentary at all, she’s apt to begin 
to laugh, so that I find it difficult to go on. It may be,” 
he added, “ that she hasn’t any idea I’m in love with 
her.” He spoke this last sentence almost with elation. 


The Carle tons. 


1 68 


But Constance shook her hand. 

“ She may not know you are in love with her ; but she 
must appreciate that you like her, or you wouldn’t be 
apt to be sending- her flowers or asking her to go to 
walk on Sunday afternoons.” 

“ Then you think it a bad sign that she laughs when 
I try to compliment her ?” 

“ Rather, perhaps,” answered poor Constance. “ But 
it all depends on the way she does it. Maybe she is 
afraid you are going to propose to her.” 

“ I mean to, soon,” he answered, sternly. “ I shall be 
admitted to the firm by the first of next J anuary, and I 
suppose her father would contribute a little something, 
don’t you ?” 

“I should think so, certainly. Perhaps that would 
be the best way,” Constance added. 

“ What would ?” 

“ To propose to her.” 

“ In order to find out ?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Then you think she may care for me ?” 

“ I think she may.” 

“ But you think she may not, also.” 

“ You don’t feel sure she does, yourself, Bill.” 

There was a short silence, during which Bill pulled at 
his lips and pondered. For six months he had been 
desperately devoted to Ethel Davis, and had had numer- 
ous discussions as to his chances, with Constance, to 
whom he had confided his passion. She had aided and 
abetted him in his suit, in every way that lay in her 
power, by devising excuses for asking Ethel to the 
house and throwing them together so far as she could, 


The Course of True Love. 


169 


and by keeping a watch on the young woman in ques- 
tion so as to ascertain what the probabilities in his favor 
were, and whether or not she cared for any one else. 
Naturally she gave Bill all the comfort she could, and 
though he scrutinized ruefully every symptom that was 
against him, he was thankful for straws, and his hope 
was of an elastic kind. One day he would be in the 
doleful dumps, but the next would find him trustful 
that he was making progress with his Dulcinea. 

Now, after studying the carpet for some minutes, with 
his head between his hands, Bill looked up and said : 

“ What do you really, honestly think as to my chances, 
Con ? Do you believe she cares for me ?” 

“ It is so difficult to tell, Bill,” she said, turning redin 
her desire to give her brother all the encouragement 
she could conscientiously, and yet not deceive him. “ I 
cannot tell how she appears when you are alone to- 
gether. You ought to be the best judge yourself. I’ve 
tried hard to find out, and I have watched her when 
your name was mentioned, and sometimes I’ve thought 
she looked conscious, but then again I’ve thought not. 
I don’t believe she cares for any one else ; but I can’t 
say one way or another as to you. I do hope, though, 
for the best, my dear brother, and I shall welcome Ethel 
as a sister with all my heart.” 

“ Don’t count your chickens,” he answered, moodily. 
“If she won’t have me, though, I shall be perfectly 
miserable. It’s foolish to talk about shooting one’s self, 
or anything of that kind ; but I sha’n’t get over it in a 
hurry. Good-night, Con ; you’re tired, and I’m boring 
you with this plaguey affair. The only way to get it off 


170 


The Carletons . 


my mind is to ask her, as you say,” he said, stooping to 
kiss her. 

She put her arms around his neck and answered 
tenderly : 

“ As if I could ever he bored by anything that con- 
cerns you so deeply. If she doesn’t take you, it’ll only 
be because you’re too good for her.” 

A fortnight later, and while Bill was still hovering on 
the brink of the proposal that would decide his fate, 
Constance was confronted with the question whether or 
not she would have Percy White. She had received an 
inkling from his remarks and manner for some time 
back that he was determined to tell her of his love, but 
she had hoped, until it was too late and the words were 
actually spoken, he would let matters remain as they 
were. 

She had been trying to make up her mind about 
Percy for a year, without exactly asking herself if she 
would marry him. There was no certainty, of course, 
that he intended to make her an offer ; but she had 
reasoned that it was only fitting that she should come 
to a definite conclusion regarding his character. The 
more she reflected in respect to that, the more she 
shook her head. Percy was always charming when he 
was talking to her, but away from her Percy had be- 
come more and more idle and volatile, and she could 
not help feeling that he had degenerated into an easy 
going fellow, who lived simply to amuse himself. When 
she had questioned Ben, the only comfort she could ex- 
tract was that Percy was the most popular fellow in col- 
lege, and the leading spirit in all the societies. But 
when cross-examined, Ben could not deny that Percy 


The Course of Trite Love . 171 


seemed utterly indifferent to everything else but having 
a fine time. Actuated by the desire that her friendship 
should prove itself worthy of the name, she had, now 
and again, when he assumed a serious tone and disclosed 
the brilliant possibilities of which he believed himself 
capable, ventured to remonstrate with him for not mak- 
ing the most of the present. It was all very well to 
talk about the future and tell what he was going to do; 
but what reason was there for supposing that he would 
do any better by and by than now? If he was eager to 
make a name for himself, why did he not begin to lay 
the foundation for distinction at once? 




CHAPTER XVIII. 

TROUBLE FOR THREE. 

Whenever Constance had argued with Percy thus, 
he seemed penitent and spoke of her as his good angel, 
declaring that for her sake he would begin forthwith 
to study and interest himself in serious matters; and 
thereupon his face would glow whith enthusiasm, and 
he would talk in a rhapsodic way, which made her feel 
very happy, and as though her words had wrought a 
complete change in him. But somehow, so far as actions 
were concerned, he seemed to remain pretty much the 
same old sixpence. He had been obliged to spend most 
of the summer vacation of his junior year in making up 
conditions, and he had been on the verge of rustication 
during the following term because of his participation 
in a rollicking supper. 

And now, when it came to deciding whether she 
would take him for better or for worse, Constance 
compressed her lips and said “ No,” firmly. Of course 
she manifested a little surprise that he wished to marry 
her — she would hardly have been a woman had she 
acknowledged that she had been expecting a proposal 
for six months — but after the preliminaries were over 
and Percy was imploring her to take pity on him and 



Trouble for Three . 


173 


make him the happiest man in the wide, wide world, she 
shook her head more and more decidedly, though the 
tears stood in her eyes, until at last, forced by his 
importunity to put an end to the scene, she declared 
that it was utterly useless for him to proceed, and asked 
him haughtily never to mention the matter to her 
again. 

It was a stunning blow to Percy, into whose head, 
though he had had occasional anxious moments, the 
idea that Constance would refuse him had never seri- 
ously entered. As he betook himself back to college he 
felt as though he had been pounded between a pestle 
and mortar. The world seemed utterly vapid, and he 
described himself to himself in terms which his worst 
enemy, if there were such a person, would have discarded 
as too galling. With the capriciousness that belongs to 
lovers he saw fit to call on Ben the first evening after 
his return and make a clean breast of the whole affair. 

“Your sister has given me the grand bounce, old 
man. She will have none of me — and — I’m a poor 
thing.” 

A gulp of despair accompanied the last phrase, which 
neutralized completely the effect of fortitude which the 
opening words were intended to convey. 

Ben was all sympathy. Percy had never told him 
directly that he was in love with Constance, but Ben had 
tacitly gathered that Percy knew that he knew what 
was going on. Without thinking very much about the 
matter, he had taken it for granted that Constance, 
despite her solicitude regarding Percy’s behavior, would 
sooner or later say “ yes.” But now that she had said 
“ no,” Ben even, while he felt badly on his friend’s 


1 74 


The Carle tons. 


account, was not prepared to feel that his sister had 
acted unwisely, and he could not help saying to himself 
that Percy was not at present exactly fitted to be the 
head of a family. 

“ I shall go to the dogs,” said Percy, with a vicious 
poke at the grate. 

“ What good would that do ?” Ben inquired, perti- 
nently. “ It will only hurt your chances.” 

“ Chances ? I haven’t any chances. She didn’t hold 
out the slightest hope. The more I besought her the 
more sure she became, and finally she forbade me ever 
to mention the subject again. Tell me,” he added, 
eagerly, “ do you believe there is any hope for me ?” 

“My opinion isn’t of much value, Percy, old boy, 
because Con has never opened her mouth to me as to 
what her feelings are ; but I’ve always thought she 
liked you very well. What reasons did she give ?” 

“ General reasons. She said our tastes were not the 
same, and — that we looked at life differently. Oh ! I’m 
an ass — a fool. I don’t need to be told the reason, for I 
know it. I’ve lost her by my own idiocy. Hasn’t she 
over and over again let me see that she didn’t approve 
of the way I was going on, and cautioned me against 
frittering away my time ? I’m not worthy of her. She’s 
right ; I’m a miserable, selfish do-nothing. By Jove, 
Ben, old fellow, I won’t give her up without a struggle ? 
I don’t think she’s fond of any one else in that way ; and 
if I can prove to her that there’s real stuff in me, and 
that I can do something as well as proclaim what I’m 
going to do, maybe she’ll look at me some time. I 
mean to take my chance, anyhow ; for the sooner I pull 
myself together, the better, whatever happens. She’s 


Trouble for Three . 


175 


the finest woman in the world, and she’s better worth 
striving’ for and losing than most women are worth win- 
ning. I’ll take a brace, Ben ; see if I don’t.” 

“ Since you’ve said so yourself, Percy, I don’t mind 
saying that I think Constance may have been influenced 
a good deal by a feeling that you weren’t exactly steady. 
Because I’m convinced she likes you better than most 
people, and if you were to take a brace, I believe you’d 
have a good chance of winning her. We’ll take a brace 
together,” Ben added, earnestly, “ for I’m in need of 
one as much as you, if not more.” 

“You?” ejaculated Percy. “You’re as steady as a 
church ; you’re a pillar of strength, Ben.” 

He remembered now that, when he had entered, Ben 
was resting his face on his hands on the study-table, 
but, in his preoccupation, he had paid little heed to the 
fact. 

“ A pillar of nothing,” answered Ben. “ Read that 
and he tossed him a letter. 

It was from his father, and ran as follows : 

“ My Dear Son : By the same mail which brings a 
request from you for more money comes a letter from 
the faculty, stating that your semi-annual eliminations 
have been far from satisfactory. In sending you to 
college, your mother and I both expected that you would 
do well in your studies, and fit yourself to follow the 
profession of the law with credit to us and to yourself. 
Instead of that, so far as I can see, you have let your 
studies slide, and interested yourself in everything ex- 
cept them. Athletics and secret societies are all very 
well in moderation, I dare say, but you were not sent to 


The Carletons . 


1 76 


college to learn to be an athlete or an actor ; and while 
I have a good business, and am ready to supply you 
with the necessary funds until you are able to stand 
alone, I am not a rich man, and cannot afford to give 
you money to gratify extravagant tastes. I inclose a 
check for twenty-five dollars, as requested, and am, with 
much love, 

“ Your very affectionate father, 

“John Carleton." 

“Whew!" whistled Percy. “What would he say, I 
wonder, if he knew how I carried on ? You’re a perfect 
saint, compared with me, Ben. It’s as much as we can 
do to get you to take a glass of anything, and beyond 
being a night-owl — for you do sit up late — I don’t see 
what he has to complain of, except the fact that you 
had hard luck in your semi-annuals ; but you’ll be sure 
to pull through all right at the end of the year, and, as 
to being extravagant, why, you don’t spend a tithe of 
the money I do." 

“ No, but I have been spending more than my allow- 
ance right along every month for a year and a half. 
Father pays for my board and clothes and tuition and 
gives me fifteen dollars a month for pocket money, and 
Freshman year I did very well on that, but ever since 
I’ve been steadily running behind, or rather ahead. I 
don’t know how it has gone exactly — books, pictures 
theatres, subscriptions — one thing and another ; and 
father never said a word until I began to go behind in 
my studies also. Last June I got one condition, you 
remember, which vexed him, because he had always 
regarded me a scholar, and now come these confounded 


Trouble for Three, 


1 77 


* semi’s/ . Father’s right ; the trouble is I’ve gone in 
for too many things, and made a mess of it. What 
with acting and playing on the base-ball team and sing- 
ing in the glee club and painting scenery and sitting up 
late reading, I’ve spread myself too thin. I may not 
have been rapid, as you say, in the ordinary sense, but 
I’ve been pretty much the same in another. If I see a 
book or a necktie or an etching that I want, I’m apt to 
buy it, though I know I’m in debt, and I’m always fly- 
ing off in some new direction, instead of sticking to 
things I’ve begun, until I’ve really learned something 
about them. If only I had devoted all the time I’ve 
wasted in this and that passing fancy to my drawing, I 
might have been able to go to father with decent grace 
and say that, though I hadn’t done much in my studies 
I had been fitting myself to be an artist ; but now 
when I tell him that I hate the idea of studying law, 
he’ll think I’m merely shirking. What a fool I’ve been ! 
Still I’ve a year more anyway, as I was thinking when 
you came in, and I’ll turn over a new leaf. You just 
see if I don’t” 

While Ben was in one sense a trifle hard on himself 
in this criticism, it was true that by force of the numer- 
ous interests which college life afforded, he had been 
prevented from concentrating his energies in any spe- 
cial field, and was now justly conscious of a dread of 
superficiality. But on the other hand, while he could 
not point to direct results in any one line, he had cer- 
tainly imbibed a heterogeneous mass of information 
which had stirred his imagination and quickened his 
interest in life. Inclined as he was at that moment to 
regard this self-directed culture as a sheer waste of 


i 7 8 


The Carle tons. 


time, he realized, when he had a chance to think over 
his father’s letter soberly, that if he took himself in 
hand at once, there was no reason for him to feel des- 
pondent as to the future. But if he was to be an artist, 
as he was more than ever determined, it behooved him 
to sacrifice everything else to achieve success in that 
line. Moreover, he must make up his mind to crucify 
the flesh and avoid indulgence in the luxurious tastes 
that had taken possession of him — tastes which were 
delightful for one who could afford them, but too costly 
for one who had chosen a calling the pecuniary rewards 
of which must for a long time remain small. 

As he glanced around his elegant room after Percy 
had gone, he blushed to think how many of the dainty 
objects which he had purchased in the course of the 
past three years had been bought without reflection, on 
the impulse of the moment, merely because he fancied 
them, not because he needed them, and with money his 
father had worked so hard to earn. And yet his room 
had been a source of great pride to him. Men had con- 
sidered it the most unique room in college. There 
were others far ahead in point of handsome furniture 
and merely expensive fittings, but his was pre-eminent 
from the artistic side. Choice editions of his favorite 
poets, etchings and water-colors, bits of armor, Japanese 
curiosities, german favors and collegiate trophies, were 
blended with what had seemed to him admirable effect. 
But somehow, now as he gazed, he was not quite sure 
that the artistic judgment on which he had prided him- 
self had not been here and there egregiously at fault. 
Would he, if he were purchasing water-colors or etch- 
ings or books to-day, buy his over again ? Were his 


Trouble for Three . 


179 


collections of ornaments and pipes and canes the choice 
possessions he had once fancied ? Was not — oh, bitter 
thought ! — this treasure-house of art which he had 
gloried in erecting merely a palace of tinsel, after all ? 
Here was, perhaps, the most painful moment of his 
awakening ; nor was the subsequent reflection, that this 
recognition of the truth was merely evidence that his 
sense of the beautiful was progressing, altogether an 
antidote to his pain. Even elastic youth cannot endure 
without mortification to see its idols proved false gods. 

Percy, who had stopped at Ben’s room without visit- 
ing his own, found, on lighting the gas, a letter in his 
father’s handwriting. He had been so wretched after 
his refusal by Constance that he had taken the train at 
once without calling at his home. He had felt the 
desire to avoid everybody, and so he did not let his 
family know that he was in town. He tore open the 
letter, expecting it to be of trifling import, though his 
father was not much in the habit of writing to him ; but 
the contents proved to be appalling. They were as 
follows : 

“ My Dear Percy : It is with inexpressible pain that 
I write to tell you of a great misfortune that has over- 
taken me. Certain large business ventures, which have 
proved less profitable than I had confidently hoped, have 
embarrassed me to such an extent financially that I do 
not see how I can afford to keep you at college longer. 
Fortunately, as this is* your last year, the deprivation 
will not be so great to you as if this calamity had 
befallen me earlier. I shall be obliged to sell my house 


i8o 


The Carle tons. 


in the city and alter materially my style of living for the 
present. 

“ While I deplore deeply the loss of the fortune which 
I had hoped to leave you, and will not attempt to 
depreciate the value of money, still I will remind you 
that you are no worse off than I was at your age. Like 
you, I had my own way to make. I had health but no 
education that could be called such ; you have both. 
My advice to you is to take advantage of the offer which 
I have been able to obtain from one of my friends to 
put you on a Western railroad, where you will have to 
begin at the bottom of the scale, but with the chance for 
promotion if you prove yourself useful. If you were to 
remain at home, it might be some time before you were 
able to find anything to do. It will be necessary to 
come to a decision without delay, for my.friend expects 
an answer. Your mother sends her fondest love, and I 
am now and ever your devoted father, 

“Gregory White.” 

There were two distinct impressions in Percy’s mind 
when he had finished : profound sadness for his father 
and gladness on his own account. Accept ? Of course 
he would accept. He wished nothing better than to 
shake off the dust of college and his boyhood’s sur- 
roundings and betake himself to a new place where he 
was not known, and where he could show himself in his 
true colors. 

“ Poor old paterfamilias / ” he .sighed, and there was 
genuine anguish in his distress ; but still he could not 
muster up much pity for the loss of the money on his 
own account. While he had never pretended to doubt 


Troitble for Three . 


i8r 


his ability to disregard the call of pleasure if he only 
chose to, there was this to be said : now he must work ; 
there was no chance for compromise even ; he must 
work or starve. Aud how he would work ! His father 
should see that he was a man, and the little girl of his 
heart should see it also. No more pipe-smoking seances, 
no more late suppers, no more card parties, no more 
popularity, no more devil-may-care idleness, but hard, 
faithful, unwearying work. So keen, indeed, became 
his enthusiasm at the thought, that he hastened back 
across the college yard to Ben’s room, and running in 
with his face aglow, cried to his friend, who was lost in 
his own reverie : 

“I’m going West ! I ’m going West on a railroad !” 

Since Ben looked at him in a way that suggested that 
he thought him crazy, he realized that circumstances 
warranted his appearing a little more depressed, and 
he hastened to add the necessary explanation with some 
degree of soberness. 




CHAPTER XIX. 

VENUS UNPROPITIOUS. 

Four days later he went to say good-bye to Constance, 
having debated for some time whether he should do so 
or not ; but he could not bear the idea of transplanting 
himself for an indefinite period without one more look 
at the girl of his heart, though she had forbidden him 
ever again to address her as such. She had heard the 
news of his father’s misfortunes, and it was evident from 
her look, though she made no reference to the disaster, 
that she was very sorry for him. But somehow her pity 
made Percy feel all the less pity for himself, and during 
the few minutes of their interview he spoke buoyantly 
of the West and never flinched once, as he reflected 
afterward. He was almost jovial, in short, and, though 
his heart was in reality perilously near his mouth in 
spite of his apparent high spirits, he managed to shake 
hands in a hearty, God-bless-you sort of fashion, that 
seemed to him, under the circumstances, better than a 
whimpering or a sentimental adieu. Grin and bear it 
must be his motto for the present, both as regards the 
blow to his affections and the loss of his patrimony. 

The condition of a young man who has been repulsed 



Venzcs Unpropitious. 


183 


by the girl of his choice differs materially from that of 
the young woman who is the victim of unrequited 
affection. He at least stands none the worse with the 
world for letting his passion be known, and he may 
cover the trees of the forest if he will with couplets in 
praise of her charms or rehearsal of his own unhappi- 
ness. But she must rigorously stifle her heart’s desire, 
not admitting even to herself that she is in love, though 
she may know it well, and much less to society, which 
frowns upon the woman who sighs. Hence it was that 
poor Violet found her lot in life at this time bitter and 
difficult to endure; for not many days subsequent to the 
departure of Percy White for the West with all his 
colors flying, the engagement of Randolph Davis to Miss 
Lina Harwood was announced, and became an absorb- 
ing topic of conversation among the friends of the hap- 
py pair. It was but natural, perhaps, that almost every 
one who heard it should, after an expression of opinion 
as to the brilliancy of the match, hazard the query, 
though often compassionately whispered as an aside: 

“ What does Violet Carleton say ?” 

The answer was simple enough: Violet Carleton could 
say nothing. What was there to say ? What was there 
to do but to go on living just as before, and make every 
effort to smile and look cheerful, despite an event which 
had taken every ray of glory out of the sunshine, and 
made existence seem a dreary waste that stretched out 
before her in vapid, hopeless monotony ? And the bit- 
terest part of it all was the consciousness that she had 
allowed herself to become interested in a man who had 
been capable of making her believe that he was in love 
with her, when in reality he was merely amusing him- 


184 


The Carle tons. 


self at her expense. It was difficult enough at the 
thought of this to keep the tears down, by biting her 
lips before the world, but in the privacy of her own 
room her grief and resentment would have full sway. 
It meant to her a complete blotting out of life as it had 
been revealed to her up to this time, and the construc- 
tion of a new universe gloomy as a pall and peopled by 
beings whose words and actions were false as Lucifer. 
Hitherto, to live had been to enjoy ; and existence had 
been sheer happiness, untrammeled by doubt as to 
herself or others — a splendid dream, which now, in a 
moment of rude awakening, had vanished, and left 
chaos in its place. 

She spoke to no one on the subject, and no one ven- 
tured to speak to her, though her mother and Constance 
dared so far as to let their sympathy show itself in little 
tender offices that still were not obtrusive. In no way 
did she alter the manner of her daily life, so determined 
was she not to let that terrible world see that she was 
desolate. She went to every party to which she was 
invited ; she reveled and flirted, and seemed the gayest 
of all who were gay, reserving the privilege to wet her 
pillow with tears of mortification after the revelry was 
over ; she congratulated Lina Harwood with the most 
complacent smile and most cordial pressure of the 
hand ; she spoke of the engagement to Ethel with the 
most studied unconcern. 

“ You must be delighted with your brother’s engage- 
ment, my dear.” 

“Yes; especially as I supposed that Randolph was not 
of the marrying kind, and that he enjoyed flitting from 


Venus Unpropitious. 


185 


flower to flower. But he has been caught this time ; 
fairly caught.” 

It was easy enough to discuss the matter coolly, so as 
even to deceive her bosom friend ; but how miserable 
she was ! She could dance and laugh and smile under 
pressure, but she could not eat and sleep. It was easy 
to be a hypocrite, but in becoming one the lustre faded 
from her eyes, and her big features stood out staringly 
in her mirror. She said to herself that she was growing 
ugly, and then remembering how she seemed to wax 
beautiful by force of his praises, she clinched her hands 
until her nails gnawed her palms, in an agony of self- 
abasement and despair. If she could but strangle him, 
as in the olden times women were wont to treat those 
who played them false ! But no ; she must smile, and 
give no sign of her misery, or all the world would laugh, 
and whisper: “ She is jealous.” Jealous! How she 
hated him ! And how much more did she hate herself ! 

One day, six weeks after the announcement of the 
match, Violet happened to be standing at one of the 
drawing-room windows, side by side with her mother, 
when suddenly the engaged couple passed, and, in 
passing, bowed beamingly. Mrs. Carleton felt her 
daughter's shoulders, upon which her own hand was 
resting, tremble, and with a mother’s instinct, drew her 
toward herself. Violet struggled against the embrace * 
then, with a convulsive sob, let fall her head on the 
loving breast and burst into tears. 

“ Oh ! Mother ! Mother !” she murmured. “ Oh ! 
Mother ! Mother !” 

There was no more said. There was no need of 
further confession. Her mother knew all, and Violet 


The Carle tons. 


1 86 


knew that she understood ; but in that outburst the 
sufferer found relief from the oppressiveness of her 
burden and help for further endurance in those pro- 
tecting arms. Her mother let her cry to her heart’s 
content, simply stroking her head and asking no ques- 
tion. Bnt when at last the torrent of grief became a 
little gentler Mrs. Carleton said : 

“ What you need, darling, is to get away from town. 
I was saying to your father yesterday when he told me 
the lease of Highlands had expired, that a summer in 
the dear old place would do us all good. You would be 
able to rest there with no one to disturb you.” 

A pressure of the hand informed Mrs. Carleton that 
the project had struck Violet favorably, and, as the 
others became enthusiastic when it was communicated to 
them, six weeks later the family was established for the 
summer in the old homestead. There was not one of 
the children who was not glad to return for a brief spell 
at least, to the peaceful conditions of life in the country. 
Harold was still of an age when bricks and mortar are 
an impediment to the spirit, and each of the others felt 
much the same elation at the prospect of communing 
with nature, instead of men and women, as the fever- 
patient at the offer of a draught of cool water. 

Not only Violet was a conscious sufferer, for Bill had 
screwed up his courage just before leaving town to 
make declaration of his passion to Ethel, and been 
refused with a sweet, sad surprise that had reduced him 
to the limpness of a rag and cast him back upon Con- 
stance for abundant sympathy. To him the country 
lanes, or the piazza at Highlands where he could lie in 
the hammock poring over his late experience, seemed 


Venus Unpropitious . 


1 87 


the only bearable places in the universe. During his 
two weeks of vacation, which he chose to take at this 
time, he rose early every morning and tramped aim- 
lessly and savagely through the wood-paths, returning 
hot and dusty to cast himself with a book, which served 
merely as a resting-place for his eyes, into the hammock, 
where he brooded away until supper-time. Constance 
was apt to bring her chair and sit beside him, willing to 
talk of the topic which was rankling in his mind, if he 
were so disposed, or afford him silent sympathy, if that 
seemed to suit his mood better. Sometimes Ben, who 
after passing his June examination with decided success, 
was employing his vacation in sketching, busy as a bee, 
would establish himself within the range of conversa- 
tion, and every now and then Violet, who seemed almost 
afraid to be idle, so constantly was she on her feet, 
would pass, on her way to or from the garden, the dairy 
or the hen-house. And ever, day in, day out, Constance 
sewed and sewed with a half-worried far-away expres- 
sion, as though she were saying to herself : 

“ Why did I let him go ?” 

Yet every now and then she would give a deep sigh 
and a little decided shake of the head, of which she was 
quite unaware. 

“ Why do you shake your head like that, Con ?” Bill 
asked, one day. “ I have seen you do it several times, 
lately.” 

“ Have you ?” she answered, coloring. “ I didn’t know 
I did. I was thinking about something or other, 1 
suppose.” 

“ Some people talk aloud without knowing it,” he 
answered, reflectively. “ I should think it might be 


1 88 


The Corletons . 


terribly embarrassing at times after which he lay 
cogitating upon the matter, thinking how terrible it 
would be were he to let slip some observation about 
Ethel unawares. Then his thoughts reverted to Con- 
stance, and he saw fit to remark casually : 

“ Do you know, Con, I had an idea at one time that 
you and Percy White might hit it off together some day 
in the w T ay of matrimony. He seemed to be rather 
attentive to you, and he sent you flowers -when you 
came out. But, of course, when his father failed, there 
was no chance of his being married, even if he wished 
to be ; and I don’t imagine you would have taken him 
when it came to the point, though I’ll admit that I think 
he’s a better fellow in some ways than I used to con- 
sider him.” 

Constance managed to drop "her work-basket on the 
piazza at this moment. Perhaps her fingers trembled 
so that she lost control of it in her effort to keep control 
of herself. She was too busy picking up the straying 
spools and skeins to answer ; but Violet, who happened 
to be passing and had heard Bill’s speech, stopped, and 
regarding him for a moment with scrutiny to satisfy her- 
self that he was speaking seriously, said, in a tone the 
irony of which was thinly veiled : 

“ Your imagination is so active, Bill, that it carries 
you away at times.” 

Thereupon she grasped the hammock, and with a 
sweep of her arms set it violently in motion. 

“I say, there !” cried Bill, the equilibrium of whose 
recumbent attitude was seriously disarranged by the 
suddenness of the movement. “ Hold on, Violet. What 
are you trying to do ?” 


Venus Unpropitious . 


189 


“ A swing will do you good,” she answered ; and, 
deaf to his exclamations, plied her strokes with vigor. 

He tried hurriedly to raise himself, but Violet, having 
demonstrated by a couple of terrific jounces that if he 
dared to resist there was an imminent probability of 
his being upset, he had to resign himself to her tender 
mercies and be swung to the full extent of her capacity. 
She looked, as she stood there with a determined com- 
pression of her lips, and her sleeves rolled up above 
her elbows, like a young Amazon ablaze with the virtue 
of her cause ; and it is highly probable that she might 
have crowned her vengeance by letting Master William 
shoot out on to the grass had not Constance’s imploring 
eyes counseled mercy. As it was, she swung him until 
her breath began to fail her ; then, with a satisfied 
“ There, take that !” she “let the cat die” and escaped 
into the house. 

Bill, who had taken the matter amiably, sat up laugh- 
ing as soon as he could stop himself, and after a chuckle 
or two at his own discomfiture, said oracularly : 

“ It’s a comfort to see Violet in better spirits. I’ve 
sometimes regretted, Con, that I didn’t horsewhip 
Ranny Davis. I thought of it at the time, but I didn’t 
feel sure that Violet would like it.” 

“ I am sure she wouldn’t have liked it at all,” Constance 
answered, eagerly. “ I think, Ben,” she added, “ that 
in matters of that kind brothers cannot often be of much 
use.” 

It is doubtful, however, if the full meaning of this 
gentle reproach was taken in by the listener. He had 
become engrossed again by the burden of his own dis- 
appointment, for he murmured in response : 


The Carletons . 


190 


“ This family does not seem to have much luck in 
getting married.” 

It happened on this very morning that Constance 
received a visit from Miss Molly Hall, whom she had 
known as a little girl at Hampton, and who had grown 
up to be a fine-looking, buxom young woman. 

As she lived almost next door, she was readily pre- 
vailed upon to drop in with her fancy-work on nearly 
every subsequent morning, on each of which occasions 
Bill was present also. For the first day or two he lay in 
the hammock without paying apparent heed to the 
rustic maiden, whose fresh, hearty exuberance attracted 
Constance, and disposed her not to be too critical ; but 
about the third day Bill began to take notice and to pay 
little civilities to the comely neighbor ; on the fifth and 
the sixth day, he proved gallant enough to escort her 
home, and thereafter their saunterings together were 
frequent. To tell the truth, Bill was the most surprised 
of persons at his own infatuation, and not a little dis- 
gusted at what seemed to him must be, if not fickleness 
on his part, a lack of deep sensibility. To have been 
refused by a princess of a woman six weeks before, and 
as a consequence thereof to have gone about ever since 
a genuinely blighted being, and yet to be now contriv- 
ing opportunities to meet a fresh-faced country maid, 
struck him as eminently strange, to say the least. And 
the strangest part, perhaps, was that, though he was 
fascinated in spite of himself by this winsome lass, he 
was just as much in love with Ethel as ever. At least 
he told Constance that this was the case when at last he 
found himself in need of explaining his quandary to 
some one. Constancy had observed his gradually grow- 


Venus Unpropitious. 


191 


ing devotion to Miss Molly with emotions that vibrated 
between consternation and mirth. There could be no 
question as to what her brother’s feeling had been for 
Ethel, and yet here he was, apparently, at the feet of a 
second charmer before his passion had had time to cool. 
It seemed both monstrous to her and inexpressibly 
funny. 

Before unburdening himself, however, Bill had finally 
arrived at a solution of the case which was the only one 
consistent with the circumstances ; and this was that 
one could be in love with two persons at the same time 
without absolute loss of respect ; that is to say, it was 
not incompatible for a blighted being to be faithful to 
number one, and yet to be drawn toward number two, 
without making himself justly liable to the charge of 
fickleness, because here he was himself just as much in 
love with Ethel as ever. 

“ I would marry her to-morrow, if she would have 
me,” he asseverated to Constance. 

“ But seeing that she won’t, you are thinking of 
marrying Molly, eh ?” 

William looked confused. 

“ That doesn’t follow, necessarily,” he said. “ A man 
may like a girl without wishing, necessarily, to marry 
her.” 

“ I’m glad to hear it,” Constance replied, dryly. 

Much as she had been attracted by Molly’s freshness, 
Constance regarded her as very second-rate to Ethel in 
breeding and education, and, what was much more vital, 
not nearly so well adapted to Bill in point of community 
of tastes and interests. 

But her tone did not please her brother, who said : 


192 


The Carle tons. 


“ I don’t see anything the matter with Molly, though.” 

u She’s a sweet girl, and pretty as can be ; but she 
wouldn’t suit you at all, Bill, and you know it perfectly 
well yourself.” 

Bill did know it, and was trying all he could either to 
persuade himself that this was a mistake, or else to 
become disenchanted because of the truth of it. But 
the struggle had seemed every day more fruitless, and 
the worst of it all was that, whatever any one might say ? 
he was sure that he was still in love with Ethel. 

Constance continued presently, deeming, doubtless, 
that she was justified under the circumstances in letting 
the truth be known, even though it should cause her 
favorite brother pain : 

“ Of course, Bill, if you are really in love with Molly, 
I haven’t a word to say, and I shall welcome her as a 
sister with all my heart, as I should any girl you chose 
to marry. But I have an idea she may be bespoke. I 
have heard that she and young Emil Logan, who is 
away in a cotton-mill, are the same as engaged.” 

“ What ! That young snip ? Why, he’s only Harold’s 
age.” 

“ He’s a little older than Harold, and you forget that 
Harold is eighteen.” 

Here was a damper, certainly, and disagreeable food 
for reflection. The idea that a mere youth should be 
preferred to him, an experienced business man on the 
road to fortune, was not to be accepted too readily. 
However, Bill realized that caution was incumbent 
under the circumstances. He could not afford to be 
rebuffed twice in one season. It had been by no means 
clear to him that Miss Molly was more than flattered by 


Ve?ius Unpropitious . 


193 


his attentions. The very dissimilarity of their tastes 
made conversation between them difficult, and he was 
sometimes conscious that he was possibly boring her. 
And yet, in spite of Constance’s double warning, he con- 
tinued flitting round the traditional candle, on the verge 
of a proposal, until the end of the summer. 

No words on the subject passed between Bill and 
Constance, until after the family had returned to town, 
when one day he said : 

“You were right, Con, about Molly Hall.” 

“ How so ?” 

“ She’s engaged to Emil Logan. You remember how 
devoted I was to her ?” 

“I can scarcely have forgotten it, Bill.” 

“A man told me to-day,” he continued, reflectively, 
“ and I was surprised to see how little I cared ; in fact 
I was glad to hear the news. It’s astonishing how she 
has slipped out of my thoughts since we left Highlands. 
My interest had begun to wane a little before we moved, 
but I told her I should come out often to see her ; yet 
I am almost ashamed to say, I haven’t gone once. I 
can see perfectly now that she wouldn’t have been the 
girl for me at all ; I should have been miserable with 
her. And the funny part is I knew it at the time, even 
when I was most smitten with her.” He stopped and 
laughed, then, after a moment: “You will promise 
never to repeat what I tell you ?” 

“ Certainly.” 

“Well, I never actually proposed to Molly, but — er 
—but if she had been willing to have me I guess there 
was a time when she could have. All’s well that ends 
well, but it’s rather humiliating to think that one is 


i 9 4 


The Carle tons. 


liable to commit what he knows to be a folly with his 
eyes wide open, and when into the bargain he really 
prefers another girl.” 

“ It’s rather difficult for me to understand, Bill, I 
must confess,” Constance felt constrained to reply. “ I 
suppose,” she said, presently, “ that Molly must have 
had in mind whatever you did say to her, when she asked 
me one morning if I didn’t thing it was sometimes 
difficult to tell if a man was proposing or not. It struck 
me as a strange remark at the time.” 

“Yes, I guess she must have had me in mind,” he 
answered, ruefully, 




CHAPTER XX. 

BOILED DOWN. 

One day, that same autumn, immediately after Ben’s 
return to college, a crowd of interested and curious 
students was gathered in his room. They had assem- 
bled in response to an advertisement displayed at 
several conspicuous points in the college grounds that 
on this particular date there would be an auction of 
valuable personal effects, books, pictures, statuary, and 
so forth. 

The news that Ben Carleton’s artistic apartment was to 
be dismantled, and that his precious belongings were for 
sale had been speedily bruited about, and had drawn 
together a considerable number of would-be purchas- 
ers ; both Freshmen, who had been notified, not only 
by the terms of the advertisement but by the others, that 
this was one of the greatest opportunities of their lives, 
and upper classmen desirous to become the owners of 
certain treasures. Moreover, though all agreed that, if 
one were determined to sell, an auction at the beginning 
of the year, when men were fitting up their rooms, was 
a vastly shrewder proceeding than at commencement 
time, when every one was in a hurry to get away, still 
the why and wherefore of the sale had remained a 



196 


The Carle tons. 


mystery. Ben was not going to leave college, and no 
one could learn that his father had lost money. Why 
then should he dispose of his furniture ? No one had 
been able to answer this conundrum satisfactorily, 
though to those who knew him best, Ben, when ques- 
tioned, had stated without further explanation that he 
had use for the money. 

Ben was his own auctioneer, and he had announced 
beforehand that the sale was to be conducted on the 
strict system of cash or no delivery. He was in his 
shirt-sleeves, standing on a table in one corner of the 
room, and inspired alike by sentiment and the desire to 
set forth the merits of his wares, he was fain to make 
use of the periphrases peculiar to the calling he had for 
the moment adopted. 

“ Gentlemen, I come now to articles numbered on the 
catalogue twenty-six and twenty-seven, and entitled 
‘ Two Sporting Pieces.' Permit me to pause a moment 
before I proceed to the ruthless sacrifice of these artistic 
master- works. Examine them if you please. They are 
twins ; Costor and Pollux — Romulus and Remus. They 
are modestly entitled ‘ Two Sporting Pieces but it does 
not need my reminder to make known to you that they 
are emblems not only of artistic excellence, but exem- 
plars of the fascinating sport of hunting dear to the heart 
of old England, a land to which, however hostile we may 
feel in occasional moments of righteous indignation, our 
thoughts ever revert with pride as the home of our 
ancestors. ” 

“ Boil it down, Ben,” interrupted a voice, but without 
pause the speaker continued : 

“ You will observe that the gentleman in the pink 


Boiled Down . 


197 


coat, who figures as the hero of each of these gems, has 
a dash and a poise, which either you or I would regard 
as appropriate to a great-great grandfather, which 
indeed, gentlemen, he well may be. Think of that. 
You had not thought of it before ; you, sir, who have 
just suggested that I ‘boil it down — * that this may be 
a family portrait. (Laughter and applause.) Observe 
too, that though in each case he bears the marks of mis- 
adventure, which indicate, perhaps, that he and his horse 
have at one time parted company, nothing has been able 
to dampen the ardor of either rider or gallant steed, as 
witness on the margin the language which the clever 
artist has put into the mouth of his hero in number 
twenty-seven : ‘ By the Lord Harry, my chestnut horse 
can almost fly !’ Ah ! gentlemen, there is courage and 
pathos and enthusiasm and the witchery of horseman- 
ship blended into one by the limner’s exquisite art. 
How much am I offered for these masterpieces ?” 

There was a pause, and the murmur of laughing 
voices. 

“ How much for the pair ?” 

“ Fifty cents.” 

“ You insult me and the noble rider and the clever 
artist by such an offer. Twenty-five cents apiece for 
these gems ! Why, the color of his pink coat is worth 
treble the sum.” 

“ S-ixty.” 

“ Five.” 

“ Sixty-five cents for the pair. Make it a dollar, you, 
sir, who, in what I took to be your desire to proceed to 
business, asked me to * boil it down.’ Will you see your 
ancestor slaughtered in duplicate for sixty-five cents ?” 


198 


The C a rletons. 


“ That’s right, Ben. Sock it to him.” 

“ A dollar,” cried a voice from another quarter. 

“ I thank you, sir. You have a fine, artistic sense ; 
but the price is dirt cheap. I am offered a dollar for — ” 

“ Dollar and ten.” 

“ Fifteen.” 

“ Twenty.” 

“ That is more like. I am offered one dollar and 
twenty cents ; who’ll make it five ? Thank you, sir. 
Five — five — one dollar and twenty-five ; going at one 
dollar and twenty-five. Who’ll make it thirty ? Going 
at one dollar and thirty cents — and — sold for one dollar 
and thirty cents to Mr.-er-er — Will the gentleman give 
his name ?” 

“ Todd,” said a faint voice. 

“ Mr. Todd, and it’s the best bargain a Freshman 
ever got. And now, gentlemen, we will proceed with- 
out delay to ascertain who is to be the future owner of 
these bits of armor which have for two years adorned 
the walls of this apartment — armor which had the luck- 
less Hector been fortunate enough to possess, he might 
have defied the gods themselves, to say nothing of the 
great Achilles.” 

Such was the tenor of the proceedings, which lasted 
two full hours without diminution of interest on the 
part of the audience, whose bidding increased rather 
than diminished in activity and zest. Nothing was 
reserved but the bare necessaries — a bed, a bureau, a 
wash-stand, two chairs, a study table, a lamp and a few 
books. Everything else, pictures, bric-a-brac , canes, 
gew-gews, were knocked off one after another at prices 
which, thanks to the auctioneer’s eloquence or to the 


Boiled Down . 


199 


high estimate accorded to his artistic taste, were occa- 
sionally in excess of their real value, so that the table 
was fairly covered with bank-bills and silver coin by 
the time the last article was reached. For another hour 
there was a hubbub, resulting from the removal by the 
various purchasers of their new possessions, before the 
termination of which it was nearly dark. Ben, who had 
watched from the window-seat the stripping process, 
found himself confronting a scene of desolation when 
he lit the gas after the last customer had departed. 
But though he felt a little tremulous about the gills, 
he whistled as he gathered up the proceeds of the 
auction, which amounted to no less than one hundred 
and nineteen dollars and seventy-five cents. 

“ A tidy sum,” he murmured, with satisfaction. “ I’ve 
saved this from the wreck, anyway.” 

Thereupon he drew one of his two chairs to the 
study-table and indited the following : 

“ Dear Father : The letter you wrote me last spring 
made me feel very badly. I did not answer it at the 
time, because there was nothing to say, except to 
promise to do better, and I had promised that before. 
Since then I can point to rather a better showing, for 
in my examinations in June I got quite a high percent- 
age, and I have endeavored to concentrate my attention 
on a few things instead of spreading myself too thin. I 
have deeply bewailed the extravagance in money mat- 
ters to which you refer and to which I must plead guilty. 
I send you one hundred and nineteen dollars and 
seventy-five cents, which I have realized from the sale 
of a lot of things which I really did not need, which I 


200 


The Carletons . 


bought with your money. They cost more than I have 
been able to sell them for, but this money will help to 
pay for me during the rest of the year. As to my 
future I wish to have a long talk with you the next 
time I come home, for I have made up my mind that I 
shall succeed best in a different profession than the 
law. I am very much in earnest about it, and when 
you hear what I have to say, I think you will agree 
with me. Thanking you, dear father, for all your lov- 
ing kindness to me, I am 

“ Your loving son, 

‘‘Benjamin Fitch Carleton.” 

After he had written this letter, Ben locked it and 
the money up in the table-drawer and went away to 
supper. He intended to get a bank draft with the 
money the first thing in the morning and enclose it in 
the letter. He felt proud and happy. The fellows 
might call him eccentric if they chose — he did not care. 
His room had been furnished with squandered money, 
and the sight of it would have made him far more 
uncomfortable for the next six months than the bare 
walls. Even now he had a carpet and bed and study- 
table, and, moreover, the old red rep curtains which he 
had replaced at the beginning of his junior year with 
others of more elegant and more modern pattern, and 
which he had bid in for the sake of “ Auld Lang Syne ” 
when they were on the point of going for a dollar bill 
for the pair. Once he had gone into ecstasy over these 
curtains. To-morrow he would tack them up, and 
they would make his dismantled room as comfortable as 
needs be. Henceforth he would be a real student, not 
a make-believe one. 



CHAPTER XXI. 

MR. CARLETON PAYS THE DEBT TO NATURE. 

Ben was gay at supper and after it gay at the ease 
with which he resisted temptation to dally here or there, 
and went back to his room for a couple of hours of 
study. An envelope protruded from under the door, 
which he drew out before entering and held up to the 
gas-jet in the corridor. It was a telegram. It must be 
from home. Somebody was sick probably and he had 
been sent for. He read feverishly and found his worst 
fears realized. It was from his mother. 

“ Your father is seriously ill. Come at once.” 

His father seriously ill ! His heart was beating 
thumpingly, and he experienced a sinking feeling that 
prompted him to lean against the wall. Then he read 
the telegram again, and entering his room, lighted the 
gas with trembling fingers. There was not a moment 
to lose. He could, if he hurried, catch a train that 
would get him home by midnight. Snatching up his 
hand-bag, he stuffed into it a few necessary articles, and 
was gone ; but a moment later, he reentered panting, to 




202 


The Carletons , 


unlock the table-drawer and take possession of the 
letter and money. A dreadful thought which already 
several times had seized him, brought his heart into his 
mouth : he might be too late, and his father would never 
know. But another thought counseled courage ; and 
with compressed lips he swept his sleeve across his 
eyes, and dashed down-stairs. 

It seemed to him as though those cruel hours in the 
train would never come to an end. A dozen times he 
re-read the telegram, only to be brought face to face 
with uncertainty. When he had left home a week 
before, his father had been complaining of a slight 
cold, but nothing had been thought of it at the time. 
When at last the train trundled into the station, Ben 
threw himself into a cab, and told the driver to drive as 
fast as he could. As they approached the house, he peered 
anxiously from the window, and perceived a carriage 
which had drawn up just ahead. From it alighted Mr. 
and Mrs. Short, who had just returned home after a 
year’s absence, during which they had made the circuit 
of the world. They turned at the noise of the second 
carriage, and were grasped by Ben impulsively by the 
hand. 

“ Oh, I’m so glad to see you back, so glad ; but I can’t 
stop. I have been sent for ; my father is very ill.” 

He did not wait to hear their exclamations of concern 
and sympathy, but sprang up the steps. As he grasped 
the bell-handle a sickening horror seized him ; there 
was crape on it ; his father must be dead. 

Unperceived by him, a face had peered behind the 
curtain as he drove up, and now, before he could regain 
the strength to ring, the door was opened by Violet. 


Mr. Carleton Pays the Debt to Nature. 203 


“ Is it true ? Am I too late ?” he cried imploringly. 

Her silence confirmed what he already knew. She 
led the way into the hall. 

“ Yes, Ben, father is dead. He died this afternoon of 
pneumonia. It was very sudden at the last. He had 
been ill for several days, but until this morning, the 
doctor said he was doing well.” 

A terrible silence followed. Ben sat upon the edge 
of a chair with his head between his hands, and stared 
at the carpet. 

“ Where is mother — and the others ?” he asked, pres- 
ently. 

“ Mother is upstairs with Constance and Harold, and 
Bill has gone to make the necessary arrangements. I 
waited here to meet you.” 

“ Thank you, darling. Oh, Violet, it is terrible !” 

“ Terrible ! I cannot take it in ; I cannot believe that 
we are never to see father again !” 




CHAPTER XXII. 

BUSINESS AND SENTIMENT. 

The days that followed were painfully sad ones. 
Death was a new experience to the Carleton children, 
who loved their father dearly, and had never realized 
how much they loved him until now that he was taken 
away. To the distress of the funeral succeeded a period 
of silent suffering', during which life appeared to have 
lost all its savor, and it seemed to each one of them as 
if they could never smile again. The sight of their 
mother in her widow’s cap, looking ten years older, but 
bravely striving to be cheerful, wrung their hearts and 
filled them with the eager desire to be a comfort to her. 
Even in the bitterness of their filial sorrow, they appre- 
ciated already that their lives were only just beginning, 
but that she had lived and could never be entirely 
happy again. 

There were many things to be attended to in the way 
of business which devolved principally upon Bill. John 
Carleton’s capital was in his lumber business. From 
this he had derived a handsome income since his return 
from the war, little of which, however, he had been able 
to put aside, so that the family at once was brought face 



Business and Sentiment. 


205 


to face with the necessity of retrenchment. They could 
not go on living so lavishly as when their father was 
alive, even though the money was allowed to remain in 
the firm under the management of Mr. Hazard and Bill, 
as seemed, on the whole, the wisest plan, after due 
consideration. Invested in bonds or mortgages, the 
property would yield too small a return for the support 
of them all, and Mrs. Carleton, to whom everything had 
been left outright by her husband’s will, with the request 
that she would bequeath it to the children in equal por- 
tions at her own death, finally concluded to let it remain 
in the business. Such was the desire of all the children, 
save that Bill insisted faithfully on pointing out to 
them the risks of such an arrangement. The business 
was an old and established one, but still business was 
business, and no degree of prudence could guard against 
bad debts. 

“ Besides,” he added, “ the percentage of business 
men who fail is something appalling — away up in the 
nineties, I believe.” 

“ I don’t care, Bill. I am ready to put trust in you, 
my son ; and if the business continues to be successful, 
you will be able to lay up enough in a few years to 
make you all tolerably comfortable after I’m gone ; and 
if it should come to grief, why there are three of you 
boys to look after Constance and Violet.” 

“We do not intend to need anybody to look after us, 
mother,” said Constance. “ I hope to try to support 
myself, and I'm sure Violet can.” 

Violet said nothing, but her looks were eloquent. 

“ I’m in favor of letting the money stay where it is,” 
she answered decidedly. 


2o6 


The Carle tons. 


Their first idea had been to return to Highlands, but 
on second thought, it was decided to sublet their pres- 
ent house, the lease of which had another year or two 
to run, and hire a more modest establishment in town. 
Bill said that he disliked the idea of two trips daily in 
the train ; but, perhaps, the truth was he had become 
thoroughly attached to city ways. The girls were 
rather doubtful on the subject, being drawn toward the 
country by the greater opportunities there afforded for 
freedom and retirement, but realizing at the same time 
that they would be cut off from much that interested 
them were they to abandon town. The desire to let 
Harold remain at the same school through another 
year was the turning-point in Mrs. Carle ton’s mind, 
divided between her fondness for Highlands and the 
painful memories of a happy wedded life that would 
constantly be awakened were she to return to the dear 
old homestead. 

At the first opportunity Ben had shown his mother 
the letter which had never been delivered to his father, 
and asked her blessing on his project, which she gave 
heartily. He insisted that the proceeds of the auction 
should be turned in to his father’s estate, but she would 
not listen to such a thing, declaring that he should use 
the money to supply him with necessary artist’s materi- 
als, and that he fairly had a right to it. He left her 
presence not entirely convinced, and determined to con- 
sult Bill as to the matter. 

It had not occurred to him that his elder brother 
would have any objection to his following whatever 
calling he chose ; and though he expected the announce- 
ment of his intention to become an artist would be more 


Business and Sentiment . 


207 


or less of a surprise, he had not looked for opposition 
from this quarter. 

“ An artist !” exclaimed Bill. “ An artist! ” he repeated, 
with what was decidedly a sneering inflection and rais- 
ing his eyebrows. 

“ Yes ; I’ve more talent for that than anything else, I 
think.” 

“ Father intended you to be a lawyer.” 

“ I know he did, Bill. I meant to have told him 
about it, but — but I didn’t.” He did not choose to men- 
tion the letter. 

“He would never have agreed to it — never in the 
world. His heart was set on your becoming a lawyer.” 

“I know it was,” said Ben, sadly. “But I think I 
should have convinced him in the end.” 

Bill shook his head with energy. 

“ Never in the world. Father abhorred anything of 
the sort.” 

“ How do you mean * anything of the sort ?’ ” Ben 
asked, quietly, looking up at his brother. 

It was just after dinner, and they had the room to 
themselves. 

Ben pursed his lips and pushed back his chair a little. 

He never had any patience with unpractical people 
— musicians, literary folk, artists, what not. You know 
what I mean perfectly well. Of course, he believed in 
art and literature, just as I do ; but when it came to 
making a living out of one of them, why, he’d have said 
it was ridiculous to attempt it — for you, I mean.” 

“ Mr. Short says I have talent,” said Ben, humbly, 
thinking for a moment that the criticism was directed 
at his ability. 


208 


The Carle tons. 


“ I don’t say you haven’t ; in fact, I know you’re a 
dab at it. But the point is that it’s a poor profession to 
follow.” 

“Why?” 

“ There’s no money in it, to begin with/ 

“ What else ?” 

“ That ought to be reason enough, I should suppose. 
Well, since you ask, I think artists are a poor lot. 
They’re apt to be long-haired, seedy-looking chaps, in 
velveteen jackets, who don’t pay their bills and sponge 
on their mother and sisters.” 

“ That shows how little you k::ow about them.” 

“ Then why did you ask my opinion ?” 

“ I didn’t ; you gave it.” 

There was an angry pause, during which Bill drum- 
med on the table. 

“ Oh, well, go your own way 1” he exclaimed impetu- 
ously. 

“ You have admitted,” began Ben, trying to speak in 
a deliberate tone, “ that music and literature and art are 
delightful things.” 

“ In their proper places, yes.” 

“ Well, if they are to flourish, some men must devote 
themselves to them. Why shouldn’t I be one of those 
men ? I’m not afraid of being poor.” 

Bill pulled at his lip. 

“ It is easy enough,” he said, “ to argue in that way, 
but ten years hence you’d talk very differently. I 
wouldn’t say a word if we had plenty of money, or even 
if you had enough to scratch along with ; but with 
mother and the girls dependent on what we are going 


Business and Sentiment . 


209 


to make, I think it would be worse than folly for you to 
become an artist.’* 

“ Mother knows and approves.** 

“ Women are not practical. They dream at once that 
any one in whom they are interested will do wonders, 
and they never count the cost or consider the con- 
sequences of failure. As a lawyer you would be sure 
sooner or later to pick up business. I could throw 
some into your hands immediately, and more would 
follow. As an artist, you will have to paint extraor- 
dinary pictures, or they won’t sell ; and if they don’t sell, 
you’ll be high and dry at thirty, without a dollar to your 
name.” 

“ There are other things beside money in the world, 
Bill.” 

“But a man is bound to support himself and 'not 
become a burden to others.” 

“ I shall support myself, never fear. If I don't, I shall 
never become a burden on you.” 

“ It wasn’t of myself I was thinking,” Bill answered, 
coloring. “ If I had money at any time and you wanted 
it, you’d be welcome to it, you know perfectly well. I’m 
merely advising you for what I consider your own 
good. If you choose to be an artist, of course I can’t 
prevent you.” 

“ I have chosen,” Ben replied, incisively. “I’m 
willing to take your word for it, that you’ve been advis- 
ing me for what you are pleased to call my good, and 
that’s why you have said so many disagreeable things. 
Otherwise, I might be disposed to suggest that business 
is apt to blind a man’s eyes to everything in life that 
cannot be reduced to dollars and cents.” 


210 


The Carle tons. 


Bill looked astounded for a moment, then he said, 
with warmth : 

“ I’ve noticed, though, that you’re not above spend- 
ing dollars and cents, all the same. Wait until you’ve 
tried making them for yourself, and maybe — maybe 
you won’t be so extravagant as you are now.” 

Ben winced at the allusion, and tears, partly of anger, 
partly of mortification, sparkled in his eyes as he said : 

“ That was what I really wished to speak about when 
I told you that I was going to be an artist. I didn’t 
wish your advice as to whether I was to be one or not ; 
1 had decided that question definitely already. But, in 
view of your last speech, I can guess what your views 
would be as to the other. I have been extravagant. 
No one knows it better than I do ; and, though you may 
not believe it, I’ve been very much troubled by the 
thought that I've spent so much of father’s money dur- 
ing the past four years, and — and I’ve been doing what 
I could to atone for it.” He paused, and drawing out 
his pocketbook threw the bank draft on the table, and 
said : “ There is something that will make up partly 

what I wasted, and you need have no fear that I shall 
ever sponge, as you call it, again on my mother and 
sisters.” 

Bill picked up the draft, and examined it curiously. 

“ What is this ?” he asked, with a half-amused air. 

“ It belongs to father’s estate.” 

“ One hundred and nineteen dollars and seventy-five 
cents, and payable to father’s order. Where did this 
come from, Ben ?” 

“No matter. It belongs to father, and you are the 
person to take charge of it. I — I should like a receipt, so 


Business and Sentiment . 


21 1 


that my extravagance need not be flaunted in my face 
hereafter." 

Bill laughed, and then colored. 

“ A receipt ? Certainly. That is," he added, “ if I 
choose to receive it." 

Ben, who had realized that he would give much not 
to have uttered these bitter words, suddenly covered his 
face with his hands, and burst into tears. For a 
moment or two he sobbed like a child, then he looked 
at Bill, and said : 

“ I had no right to say what I did about the receipt. 
I beg your pardon. I was so angry, I didn't know what 
I was saying." 

“ I guess we’ve both been pretty angry. That’s all 
right. See here, Ben, what’s the matter ? What does 
this money mean ?’’ asked Bill, leaning forward. 

Ben hesitated a moment, as he wiped his eyes. 

“ It is the proceeds of the sale of all my college things. 
I sold them by auction the day father died." 

“ The dickens you did. The money belongs to you, 
then." He reflected for a moment. “Of course it 
belongs to you. I see your point, and it’s very honora- 
ble of you ; but the rest of us wouldn’t think of taking 
your money. See here, Ben. I didn’t appreciate, when 
you began, that you had really desired to be an artist, 
or I wouldn’t have said so much. If we five don’t stand 
by one another, no one will stand by us. We both of 
us got angry and said what we didn’t mean." 

“ That is very square of you to talk so," said Ben. “I 
certainly lost my temper, and I’m sorry for it ; and 
since you think I ought to keep the money, I’m willing 
to do so. I don’t wish," he added, “ to revive discussioi 


212 


The Carle tons . 


but I can't help saying that it's very disappointing to 
me that you can't approve of my choice of a profession ; 
but, as you've stated, that needn't really interfere with 
our being fond of each other and standing by each other. 
As dear father used to say, it takes all sorts of people to 
make up a world, and we can’t expect to agree in every- 
thing. I’ve thought the whole matter over until it’s 
threadbare, and I feel sure that what I’m doing is best 
for me.” 

“ It’s true, as you say ; we can’t expect to agree in 
everything,” replied Bill. “ Each of us must paddle his 
own canoe ; and if either of us gets upset, it won’t be 
the other's fault.” 




CHAPTER XXIII. 

WITHOUT FEAR AND WITHOUT REPROACH. 

The upshot of this armistice between the brothers 
was that Ben threw himself into his art with all his 
heart and soul. He was eager to leave college at once, 
and though both his mother and Mr. Short, whose 
counsel he sought, advised him to remain through the 
year so as to take his bachelor’s degree, he declared that 
he could not afford the time. He began to attend at 
once the local Academy of Design, and to study and 
practice day and evening. Mr. Short repeated the offer 
to invite a skilled artist to his house to give them both 
lessons two afternoons in the week, which Ben, after 
some hesitation, accepted, expressing his regret at the 
same time, that he had allowed the previous offer to 
remain unacted upon out of sheer heedlessness. 

“We live and learn,” answered his mentor. “ If 
every youth was wise in his generation, the world would 
become unbearably dull.” 

“ But I should rather have some other fellow be the 
fool. If I had learned without living, I should probably 
have learned by this time to be able to make some 
money.” 

(i Now, young man, that isn’t the way to talk at all. 




214 


The Carle tons. 


When you adopted art as a profession, you turned 
your back on the gold that perisheth.” 

“ Yes, but I must live, Mr. Short.” 

“ Well, you are living, aren’t you ?” 

“ Yes, in my mother’s house. It’s hard enough to feel 
that I have to be a drain on her small resources for my 
bed and board instead of helping to make her more 
comfortable ; but I can see that it would be foolish and 
unreasonable of me, beside a grief to her, if I were to 
put my foot down and refuse to accept these. But that’s 
as much as I can accept. I will never take a cent of 
money from her or from anybody else, which is not 
earned, and if you attempt in any way to make me an ob- 
ject of charity, I’ll hie me to some out-of-the-way attic 
where I shall be able to starve in peace.” 

“ Wlierefore this belligerence ?” laughed Mr. Short. 
“ What have I been doing ?” 

“ Oh, you have been dropping hints every now and then 
the past few days that I needn’t concern myself about 
how I was to live, but ought to devote all my energies 
to learning how to paint ; as much as to say that you 
would look out for the rest. And it’s because I know 
how kind you are, and that you would like nothing bet- 
ter than to have me lie down on you, that I wish you to 
understand once and for all that I can’t possibly allow 
myself to do so. I have consented to let you pay for my 
private lessons on the gauzy plea that you were going 
to take lessons yourself, in any event ; but I draw the 
line at them.” 

“ I admire your independence, Ben, but I can’t quite 
agree with you all the same. You take too stern a view 
of the situation. Why shouldn’t you be willing to let 


Without Fear and without Reproach. 215 


your mother and your friends tide you over until such 
time as you are able to support yourself ? I have no 
children of my own, and I should be only too glad to be 
your banker. When you are famous you can repay me 
if the obligation weighs too much on your mind.” 

Ben shook his dead decidedly. 

“ Many thanks to you, but I mean to grow famous — if 
I grow famous at all — without being boosted by any 
one. I’ve undertaken to show that I can support myself 
as an artist, and I don’t mean to begin by receiving alms. 
It may be foolish, but I feel that enough money has been 
wasted on me already, and that if there is anything in 
me as an artist, it will come out all the more quickly 
because I have only my profession to rely on. If there’s 
nothing to come out, I dare say I shall be able to get a 
place as horse-car conductor or something in that line.” 

“ I don’t believe you’ll ever be quite reduced to that,” 
said Mr. Short, “though for the first year or two 
I’m afraid you can hardly expect to compete with the 
conductor in point of income. All then is, Mr. Artist, if 
the time comes that you repent of your independence, 
remember that you have only to say the word and my 
check-book is open to you.” 

“ After what I have said, though,” said Ben, “ I would 
rather starve than utter it. But, in spite of your gloomy 
predictions, I’ve no idea of starving.” 



CHAPTER XXIV. 

MRS. SHORT TO THE RESCUE. 

Women are slower than men to adapt themselves to 
the new circumstances that result from a severe bereave- 
ment. While Bill and Ben were finding in their new 
responsibilities and cares a fresh zest in life, their sis- 
ters were still trying to recover from the shock of 
their father’s death, which had altered so sadly for them 
their perspective of existence. Both the girls had felt 
the necessity of bearing up for their mother’s sake, and 
each had endeavored to promote forced cheerfulness by 
activity, Violet in the line of household duties, and Con- 
stance by a renewal of her charitable work in co-oper- 
ation with Mrs. Short ; and each was as busy as a bee. 
Constance tried literally not to be idle a single moment, 
after the example of her preceptress ; and such time as 
she was not able to spend with her mother, or in fur- 
thering the cause of charity or education, was employed 
in reading, so that her thoughts need never be unoccu- 
pied for a single moment. But though she flatters her- 
% self to be able in this wise to shut out the self-commun- 
ings of a bitter and perplexing kind which beset those 
whose hearts are sore, and who scarcely know what 


Mrs. Short to the Rescue. 


217 


they believe concerning anything, she soon recognized 
that though activity can keep at bay, it cannot quell, 
save by a long experience, the murmurs of the soul ; 
especially where, as in her case, there was nothing con- 
nected with her own future to irradiate, as with an occa- 
sional sunbeam, the bank of clouds. On the contrary, 
the future looked gray and vapid, with no hope beyond 
a doubt, that could hardly be called a hope, interwoven 
with the destinies of one Percy White, concerning whom 
she had heard nothing, and concerning whom, inasmuch 
as she had deliberately refused to accept him as a lover, 
she, naturally, did not choose to make inquiries. 

Accordingly, though she seemed so brisk and cheery 
and untiring, and though she declared that she never 
felt stronger in her life, when Mrs. Short once or twice 
suggested that she was looking thin, it was not altogether 
strange that, one night, about six months after Mr. Carle- 
ton’s death, Bill was awakened by her, after midnight, 
with the request that he would go for the doctor. She 
said she had not been able to sleep and was in great 
pain. She looked white as a ghost, and her brother, 
having led her back to her room and aroused Sophia, 
hastened for the physician. 

When Bill returned, he found her with chattering 
teeth and trembling from head to foot. 

“ I cannot help it, Bill, really,” she said, piteously, 
fearing lest her inability to control her nerves would 
strike him as unnecessary. This was evident even to 
so firm a believer in the power of the individual over 
the will as he. Moreover, the doctor, when he arrived, 
showed by the celerity with which he called for brandy 
and red pepper, that he recognized there was nothing 


218 


The Carle tons. 


make-believe in her condition. So much was the con- 
trary the case that the next day she had lost all her 
strength and was in such a complete state of exhaus- 
tion that the slightest exertion was an effort. 

“ The matter with her ?” echoed the doctor, in answer 
to Violet, who, anxious to know the truth, followed him 
down-stairs. “The same that is the matter with so 
many of you young ladies. She has been living on her 
nerves, and has given out ; that is all. She has, evi- 
dently, been over-doing for some time, which, coupled 
with the shock of her father’s death, has prostrated her 
nervous system. Anaemia, we doctors call it, which 
means a lack of the red corpuscles of blood. She must 
eat more, sleep more, and rest all the time.” 

It was a month before Constance was able to leave 
her room, and nearly a year elapsed before she ceased 
to be an invalid, during which time she was faithfully 
tended by her mother and Violet. Mrs. Carleton was 
anxious, naturally, at the slowness of her progress, and 
hung over her couch with solicitude that strove to fore- 
see her every wish. Upon Violet, in these days, 
devolved a general supervision of the household, includ- 
ing her mother herself. The more she had to do, the 
better it suited her ; and, unlike Constance, she showed 
no signs of tiring. As she moved about the house in 
her plain black dress, which showed to perfection the 
outline of her shapely, well-knit figure, performing her 
duties with a grave, impassive face, she suggested in 
some measure one of Millet’s peasants. At least the 
comparison occurred to Mrs. Short, who was constantly 
at the house to inquire for her dear disciple. Of Violet, 
Mrs. Short had hitherto seen but little. Now, however 


Mrs. Short to the Rescue . 


219 


they were thrown much together by force of their com- 
mon interest in Constance’s well-being. 

“ Tell me, my dear,” said Mrs. Short one day, when 
the invalid seemed to be making but slight headway, 
“ has she anything on her mind that I do not know of ?” 

The doctor had asked the same question and been 
answered in the negative, and Violet shook her head 
this second time without reply, but she let her eyes fall 
slightly as she did so, which movement was not lost on 
her questioner, who waited a moment, and then said : 

“ How about that young man ? Percy White, I mean,” 
she added, since Violet made no response, but still kept 
her eyes down. 

Then Violet, after a short hesitation, looked her in 
the face, and said : 

“ I know nothing of my own knowledge, Mrs. Short. 
Constance has never breathed a syllable to me on the 
subject, but my idea is that she liked him, and — and I 
hoped he liked her.” 

“ Liked her ? He was dead in love with her. Whether 
he actually asked her and was refused, or whether he 
went away without asking her, because of his father’s 
business troubles, I have not been able to make out, but 
something or other took place while I was abroad. I 
am certain of that, for Constance, since my return, has 
never let me mention his name, and Ben, whom I have 
tried to catechise, is close as an oyster. My own firm 
belief is that each is in love with the other.” 

“ Thank Heaven for that,” murmured Violet. 

Mrs. Short looked at her with quick surprise, not 
appreciating for a moment why she should speak so 
intensely, and then remembering that some one had 


2 20 


The Carle tons. 


written to her in Japan that the second Miss Carleton 
was wearing- the willow for young Randolph Davis, a 
whole flood of light was let in upon the complete change 
in Violet’s ways, which she had ascribed solely to Mr. 
Carleton’s death. 

“ You would approve of the match, then ?” she asked, 
deeming it best to seem not to notice the direct signifi- 
cance of the speech. 

“ If she likes him, and — and if he is worthy of her.’* 

“ Two large * ifs,’ my dear. But, provided my con- 
jecture is correct, and your surmise fortifies me in it, 
the first one is answered already. As for the second, I 
believe in Percy. He has been volatile and foolish, I 
dare say, and if Constance did refuse him, it was because 
she thought so, poor, dear, conscientious child. But if 
he is the man I believe him to be, he will make his way 
out West, and come back and marry her. Is there any 
news of him ?” 

“ Ben had a letter — the first one he has received — day 
before yesterday. Percy wrote that he had been pro- 
moted, and seemed in good spirits. It was very short.” 

“ Did you tell her ?” 

“ Not yet. I was trying to decide what was best. I 
shall tell her now,” said Violet ; then, after a pause, she 
added, “ Constance would make a man very happy.” 

“ Yes, she ought to be married. She is meant for a 
loving wife ; whereas, she fancies herself cut out to be 
a philanthropist and a world- worker. The poor dear 
has not the strength — she would worry herself to death 
in a year or two. Drudgery of that kind is meant for 
people who have no nerves, or else whose nerves are all 


Mrs. Short to the Rescue. 


221 


steel, like mine. We are not really half so useful as the 
others.” 

Violet looked at her for a moment wistfully, then she 
said : 

“ I was going to speak to you about that matter, as 
regards myself, Mrs. Short. For the moment, of course, 
I have Constance to look after ; but, as soon as she is 
well, I feel that I should like to interest myself in some- 
thing worth while. I have no nerves, either, or, at least, 
I am never conscious of them.” 

Mrs. Short cast an admiring glance at the girl’s fine 
figure, and answered, in her brisk way : 

“ I understand. What is it you want to do ?” 

“ I do not know. I want advice as to what I could do 
best.” 

“ Let me see.” 

The little lady frowned reflectively. She was inter- 
ested. Here was a wounded spirit that needed to for- 
get, or, if it could not live down its sorrow, dull its edge 
by occupation. 

“ How old are you ?” she asked. 

“ Twenty-one.” 

“ Humph ! You are not very bookish, I believe.” 

“ I could study if it were necessary, but I am not fond 
of books, as Constance is. I prefer to be busy with my 
hands.” 

“ Precisely. How would you like to be a hospital 
nurse ?” 

Violet’s eyes brightened. 

“ I had not thought of that. Could I ?” 

“ You are strong and handy ; you move quietly, and 
you don’t get flustered easily,” continued Mrs. Short, with 


222 


The Carle tons. 


a reflective air. “ I don’t see why you wouldn’t make 
an excellent one. It is hard work, but that is what you 
are seeking for, I take it.” 

“ Provided it is interesting, I don’t care how hard it 
is.” 

“ Very good, then. We must speak to Dr. Short- 
bridge.” 

This was the name of the doctor attendent on Con- 
stance. He was a man of forty-five, in active practice, 
keen-eyed, and incisive in his manner. He was the 
visiting physician at several of the institutions with 
which Mrs. Short was connected, and they were on 
friendly terms. 

“ Have I noticed her ?” he echoed, in response to an 
inquiry from the lady in question, made a few days after 
this conversation with Violet. “ I should think I had. 
She is a Hebe. And you say she wishes to become a 
nurse ?” He wrinkled his brows. “ She is too good- 
looking.” 

“ But haven’t you told me a dozen times that patients 
in the hospital object to ugly faces.” 

“ Yes ; but everything in reason. Why, my dear Mrs. 
Short, Miss Carleton wouldn’t be a nurse three months 
before she was engaged to be married.” 

“ Which shows, Doctor, that you’re not so clever a 
man as I supposed you to be. In this age of the world, 
it isn’t a woman’s beauty, but the lack of it, that makes 
her in a hurry to get married. I will go bail for this 
one.” 

“You mean ?” he queried, in a mysterious tone that 
implied he was willing to be let into a secret, 


Mrs. Short to the Rescue. 


223 


“ I mean that barring* accidents, she is likely to keep 
mankind at bay for years to come.” 

“ What do yon call accidents, pray ?” said the physi- 
cian, smiling, and none the less inclined to be gracious 
because he had been put off. 

Accustomed by long experience to hear one woman 
tell another woman’s secrets, his heart warmed toward 
one who could resist the temptation. 

“ I mean just what you doctors mean when you say 
that barring accidents, the patient will recover. The 
unexpected may always happen in love as in convales- 
cence." 

“You are a sad case," said the physician. “When- 
ever your proselyte is ready to begin her apprentice- 
ship, I will try to provide for her." 

This was not for several months, but the prospect of 
entering the hospital made Violet's horizon brighter. 
In the past year she had drifted completely away from 
her former life and friends, even from Ethel, with 
whom, despite her affair with Randolph, she had tried 
to preserve the same intimacy. But, though Ethel did 
her share in the way of coming to see her after the 
Carletons moved from the house next door, there was 
less and less in common between them every time they 
met. Ethel was still in the whirl of social life, and 
interested in its doings, of which Violet was now delib- 
erately ignorant, and it seemed to Violet that her old 
friend had lost her spirits, and was much less interesting 
than formerly. Ethel was charitable enough to ascribe 
this to Mr. Carleton’s death ; but, though she made 
every effort to be sympathetic, she could not prevent 


224 


The Carle tons. 


herself from being 1 bored by Violet’s continued serious- 
ness of demeanor. 

Violet, in her turn, realized that Ethel found her dull, 
and she tried to make an effort to appear less so, but it 
was of no use ; she could not grow lively over the 
details of balls and dinner-parties and the tittle-tattle of 
society. So they had gradually drifted apart, though 
neither would have admitted that she was less fond of 
the other. Moreover, they were loyal to each other. 
The worst that Ethel ever said of Violet — and then, 
only to a bosom friend — was that she was a little mor- 
bid, poor thing ; and Violet, though, perhaps, she won- 
dered how Ethel could find continued amusement in 
society, and judged her accordingly as a little frivolous, 
never said so aloud. 

It was a great relief to Violet to learn that Mrs. Short 
believed Percy to be true to Constance, and the allusion 
to Ben in connection with the matter, was a new source 
of satisfaction. She had thought once or twice of men- 
tioning the subject to Ben, knowing his intimacy with 
Percy ; but the remembrance of her own agonies had 
made her slow to disclose a secret which, if what she 
dreaded were correct, ought to be kept sacredly from 
every one. Her own experience had made her suspi- 
cious of men, and, perceiving Constance to be oppressed 
as by a weight, the fear had occurred to her, though 
she hated to give it bosom -room, that Percy had been 
merely amusing himself. But when she thought it 
over she had tried to believe, as a more probable alterna- 
tive, that he had been dissuaded from speaking by his 
father’s losses, and that her sister, either guessing this, 
or uncertain as to what he might feel, was unhappy. 


VIOLET AND BILL’S CONVERSATION CONCERNING THEIR BROTHER HAROLD. — See Page 230 
























































■’ 


























Mrs . Short to the Rescue . 


225 


But now she thought it best to mention the matter to 
Ben. Accordingly, she took him aside that evening and 
broached her anxiety. 

Ben listened with a knowing smile, and when she had 
finished, said : 

“ Of one thing you may rest assured, Violet, which is 
that Percy, before he went away, was thoroughly in love 
with Constance. You mustn’t ask me how I know or 
why I know, but I do know it for a fact ; and — and I see 
no harm in saying that Constance was aware of it.” 

“ That takes a great load off my mind, Ben.” 

“ As to anything between them since he went West — 
I know absolutely nothing, but I should be willing to 
wager a modest sum that his heart was true to Poll. 

No matter what you do. 

If your heart is only true ; 

And his heart was true to Poll,* ” 

he chanted, gayly. 

“ And how about Poll ?” said Violet. 

“From what you have intimated, I judge that her 
heart is true to ‘hisn.’ Between ourselves,” he con- 
tinued, thoughtfully, “ I’ve had a feeling that if Percy 
hadn’t been so helter-skelter in college she would have 
become engaged to him a year ago. There ! I’ve let 
the cat out of the bag. Well, seeing that you’re in the 
family, I don’t suppose Percy’ll mind ; and I might as 
well add that, though he went away without any hope, 
apparently, he vowed he was going to turn over a new 
leaf and win her in the end; and, somehow, I have 
the feeling he will.” 


226 


The Carletons . 


“ Then hadn’t you better let her see his letter ?” sug- 
gested Violet, falteringly. # 

“ I was wondering whether it wouldn’t be a good plan. 
The doctor has said she wasn’t to be agitated in any 
way, and I didn’t like to take the responsibility, not 
knowing exactly how she did feel.” 

“ I don’t believe it would do her any harm,” said 
Violet, quietly. 11 In fact — ” she stopped short for a 
movement, then she added earnestly, “ I realize that it 
is taking a great deal on one’s self to meddle in matters 
of this kind, and if I didn’t feel very certain, I wouldn’t 
have suggested it. I should hate Constance to think 
that we were interfering in her affairs.” 

“ Women are born match-makers,” he could not resist 
saying. 

“ Don’t, Ben.” 

“ Meddling ? Of course it isn’t meddling, my dear 
sister. If she doesn’t care for him, the letter will pro- 
duce no more effect on her than water on a duck’s back, 
and if she does, why, there's certainly no harm in letting 
her know how he is getting along. We should be 
inhuman not to.” 

“ Yes, that is my idea. After all, it is only letting her 
know the facts, though I can’t help feeling rather like a 
conspirator.” 

The letter was shown to Constance the next day, and 
the conspirators were rewarded by seeing that she 
seemed decidedly brighter ; so much so, that Violet 
suggested to Ben to answer Percy’s letter as soon as 
possible, in the hope of evoking another, which he pro- 
ceeded to do forthwith. 



CHAPTER XXV. 

HOME TROUBLES. 

Another subject of Violet’s solicitude at this period 
was Harold, who, as is apt to be the case with the 
younger members of families, had grown up sooner 
than was expected. He was eighteen, and, though still 
at school, his appearance and tastes were those of a 
precocious youth. A fringe of luxuriant whiskers 
adorned his cheeks, and his principal interest in the day- 
time seemed to be to escort young women of his acquain- 
tance to and from school. This was all very well, but 
he evinced, to boot, a disposition to be out at night 
much oftener than seemed fitting for one so immature. 
Owing to the absorption of the family in Constance’s 
condition, his habit of straying out after supper passed 
unnoticed for some time. Bill was likely to be busy 
with his music, to which he was still faithful in the even- 
ing, or was often out himself, and Ben, if he were not 
visiting some artistic crony for mutual sympathy and 
enlightenment, or hobnobbing with Mr. Short, was 
capable of becoming so wrapt in a book as to be obliv- 
ious to everything else. So, while Mrs. Carleton and 
Violet, who commonly sat in Constance’s room for an 
hour or so before they left her for the night, supposed 




228 


The Carle tons. 


him to be studying, Master Harold got into the way of 
slipping out unperceived, to amuse himself with three 
or four young men of his own age. Violet was the first 
to discover this. After it had been going on for a fort- 
night or so, she happened to come down one evening 
about half-past eight, with a view of keeping her 
brothers company, and perceiving that Harold was 
absent, inquired where he was. Ben, who was the only 
one in the parlor, looked up from his book and then 
around the room as though he expected to see him there. 

“ I’m sure I don’t know. He was here a little while 
ago. Perhaps he is studying in the dining-room.” 

He proved not to be, and the question as to his where- 
abouts was not answered until half an hour later, when 
he came in at the front door. Violet went out to meet 
him, exclaiming : 

“ Why, where have you been, Harold ?” 

“ Out.” 

“ But it is after nine o’clock.” 

“ Is it ?” he replied, in a tone that was partly sugges- 
tive of “ What of it ?” and yet designed to be a little 
guarded at the same time. 

“ But what have you been doing ?” 

“ I’ve been at Charley Daggett’s.” 

“ Why, Harold, you’ve been smoking !” Violet 
exclaimed, in a tone of horror, scenting the odor of 
tobacco. 

Harold looked embarrassed for an instant, then 
replied, doggedly : 

“ I don’t see what business it is of yours, Violet, if I 
have.” 

“ But you’ve no right to smoke at your age.” 


Home Troubles . 


229 


“ Why not ? I’m eighteen. Lots of the fellows do. 
Besides, I was only smoking cigarettes, any way.” 

He walked past her and went up the stairs, leaving 
Violet at a loss what to say or do ; for she had suddenly 
realized that Harold was no longer in swaddling clothes, 
and that he was disposed to resent her interference. 
To have a dispute with him would be to preclude the 
possibility of influencing him by kindly argument. 
After all, there was nothing very heinous in being out 
until nine o’clock, and she could not deny that he was 
eighteen. Nor, when she came to think of it, was there 
anything alarming in the bare act of smoking, except 
that Harold was still living at home, and therefore sup- 
posed to be in the nursery, so to speak, and unsophisti- 
cated. Bill smoked now, and Ben had smoked until 
recently, and she did not know when they had acquired 
the habit, but she did not believe it had been so early. 
The long and short of it was Harold was grown up, and 
it was necessary that he should be looked after, and 
something decided as to his future. Since he was no 
student and had shown no especial taste for anything, 
there had been talk of putting him into business after 
this year ; but her mother still persisted in regarding 
him as a mere baby — a delusion which they had all more 
or less adopted. 

While Violet was thus cogitating, seated on a hall 
chair, the rattle of a key in the lock of the front door 
announced the arrival of Bill. 

“ Holloa, Violet ! What are you doing here ?” 

“ Thinking. I came down a little before nine, and 
found that Harold wasn’t at home. When he came in, 
he said he had been at Charley Daggett’s and he owned 


230 


The Carle tons. 


up to smoking cigarettes. When did you begin to smoke, 
Bill?” 

“ I never smoked until after I was twenty-one. Father 
advised me not to, so I didn’t.” 

“ Harold is eighteen. Don’t you think, Bill, that the 
best thing to do would be to put him right into your 
office this summer ? Mother can’t afford to send him 
to college, and she doesn’t realize how old he really is.” 

“ I’ll have to take him in hand. I’ve been thinking so 
several times lately,” answered Bill, emerging from the 
coat closet, whither Violet had followed him. “ I don’t 
fancy the crew he travels with. That Charlie Daggett 
is a low-lived specimen. I’ll give Harold a good talk- 
ing-to. If he comes into my office he’ll have to make 
up his mind to quit fooling and stick to his work.” 

“ Of course. I’ve no doubt he will, Bill. As soon as 
he feels that there is real responsibility on his shoulders 
he will take a more serious view of things.” 

“ I don’t know about that. He has been indulged all 
his life, and got so into the habit of doing what he 
chooses, that he’ll find it difficult to do what other peo- 
ple choose. He was spoiled years ago. If as a little 
boy he had been made to mind, as the rest of us were, 
he would have been very different to-day.” 

Violet was silent for a moment. She could not deny 
that there seemed to her much truth in this last state- 
ment. Then she said : 

“ But' at any rate we ought to do all we can for him 
now.” 

“ I’m going to. I’ll take him into the office, and if he 
shows himself worth his salt he’ll have plain sailing. I 
was merely prophesying what I feared, judging from 


Home Troubles . 


231 


the past. You know perfectly well he was spoiled. 
You’ve said so yourself often enough. ” 

“ Yes, I think that he ought to have been made to 
obey better when he was a little fellow,” Violet 
answered, with a sigh. “He was the youngest, though, 
and we all laughed at whatever he did, and encouraged 
him to be mischievous because he was amusing. I’ve 
sometimes thought that by the time mother and father 
got to him they were worn out with hammering away 
at the rest of us, and hadn’t the energy for another 
encounter.” 

“ There’s something in that,” laughed Bill. “ We 
were a pretty troublesome lot to manage.” 

“ Harold, besides being attractive, is naturally very 
smart, and if he will only put his mind into whatever he 
has to do, he will do well. For my part, I’ll try to see 
more of him, and do what I can to keep him straight ; 
but you must promise me, Bill, not to speak about his 
smoking unless you see him smoking yourself, for I 
don’t wish him to think I am bearing tales to you, or he 
will hate me.” 

Bill promised this, on the understanding that she was 
to reason with him on the subject, and induce him to 
smoke openly, if at all ; and he himself undertook to 
have a talk with him regarding the office. 

As a result of these negotiations, Harold became a 
clerk with Carleton & Hazard the following October, 
having previously listened without impatience to counsel 
of a downright kind from his eldest brother and exhorta- 
tion from Violet that was meant to beget confidence. 
Although he took little pains to be attentive to the old 
lady, he was still in the good graces of Cousin Rebecca, 


The Car let ons. 


who had him pay her occasional visits at Hampton, from 
which he was apt to return jingling coin in his pocket, 
a circumstance, as Ben said, trifling in itself, but sadly 
significant as foreshadowing her testamentary inten- 
tions. 

With the autumn, too, Violet began a course of in- 
structions at the hospital, where she was obliged prac- 
tically to live. Constance, though still delicate, was 
able to be about, and to attend to the ordinary duties of 
the household, so far as her mother would allow her to 
do so. 

Constance’s illness had given Mrs. Carleton a second 
lease of life, reviving in large measure the energy which 
her husband’s death had apparently extinguished for- 
ever. She watched over the invalid with the eye of a 
lynx, and was fain to wait upon her devotedly, a state 
of affairs against which the invalid rebelled, so far as 
she was able. It was in the nature of a bitter blow to 
Constance that Violet should be given up to good works 
and she obliged to sit with folded hands; but she was 
quick to recognize that her happiness must be found in 
patient resignation, so that she was able, presently, to 
discuss the situation with her sister and Mrs. Short, 
without letting her disappointment be too obvious. She 
questioned Violet eagerly as to all that went on at the 
hospital, and declared herself only waiting until she were 
really strong to emulate her example in some other field 
of usefulness. 

In answer to this declaration of what she intended to 
do when she should be restored, Mrs. Short would shake 
her head smilingly; and one day, after Constance was 


Home Troubles . 


233 


feeling and looking a good deal like her old self, she 
hazarded the following: 

“ One is enough in a family, my dear Con. It doesn’t 
do to put all the domestic eggs in one basket. I have 
a sort of feeling that, so far as usefulness goes, you will 
be of more service beside the hearth than you would be 
in a hospital, on the lecture platform or on philanthropic 
committees, and that without the least disparagement 
to you, my dear. Woman’s real place is at home after 
all, and those of us who stray outside are to be pitied 
rather than congratulated. We are, if not exactly mon 
strosities of the social order, as the other sex once dub- 
bed us, nevertheless the least favored in that process of 
natural selection. A woman who can find her mission 
at home, and be happy there, is the ideal woman, after 
all, rather than the St. Theresa.” 

“But what is my mission?” murmured Constance. “At 
present there are mother and the boys; but — ” 

“ If your present is occupied, why concern yourself 
with the future?” interjected Mrs. Short. “You have 
your mother and your brothers. Voila tout . When they 
no longer need you it will be time enough to look out 
for another situation. You have your books, which you 
love, and you can wait. The world needs quiet culture 
of mind and spirit as much as deeds. Old Milton said 
wisely: 

‘ They also serve who only stand and wait.* 

Trite as the hills, Con, but ever true and new like 
them. Wait, my dear, and who knows what may happen !'* 
There was a roguish intonation in the closing sen- 


234 


The Carletons. 


tence that brought the flush of embarrassment to the 
girl’s wan cheeks. It faded, and to it succeeded the 
tearful smile and firm lips of the self-accuser. 

“ I will try — try to be more patient," she said ; “ but it 
is hard to feel that one’s life is turning out so different 
from what one meant it to be." 




CHAPTER XXVI. 

HAROLD AS A TARTAR. 

On his father’s death, Bill had become full partner in 
Carleton & Hazard, and by this time he was virtually the 
mainstay of the firm, for Mr. Hazard was so far crippled 
by rheumatism as to be confined to the house, and his 
son, who was to succeed him eventually, was just learn- 
ing the business. This son, -whose name was Lemuel 
Hazard, had been taken into the office as clerk, some six 
months before Harold’s introduction there, and these 
two youths both saw fit to mock at the head clerk, Mr. 
Sanborn, behind that gentleman’s back, and scarcely to 
conceal their mirth at his foibles when in his presence. 
The head clerk was now far advanced in years ; he 
stooped noticeably, his head glistened like a billiard ball, 
and his gait was beginning to be tottering ; but he was 
faithful and punctual as ever, and his only interests still 
were the firm, in whose service he had worked for well 
nigh half a century, and his gold watch. 

And yet the very traits which had inspired the respect 
and admiration of Bill aroused the risibilities of his two 
juniors, Harold and Lemuel, who became at once fast 
friends, made sport, day in, day out, of the venerable 
retainer and his timepiece, and his homilies on punctuality. 


236 


The Carletons. 


Mr. Sanborn, who had looked forward to training these 
scions of the old house, and who had found in Bill so 
docile and satisfactory a pupil, exhausted all the rheto- 
ric at his command in endeavor to point out to them the 
value of thorough, conservative business methods, but 
his exhortations seemed to go in at one ear and out at 
the other. The boys did things in their own way, and 
speedily introduced various innovations in the daily 
routine which made the head clerk stand aghast. Harold, 
on the evening of the very first day, had remarked, 
casually, to Bill : “ Who is that venerable-looking fossil 

you have at the office ?” And though his brother had 
cut short his flippancy at the moment by downright 
praise of his old henchman, Harold had never seen fit to 
alter his estimate. The two new-comers spoke of him 
invariably as the “ venerable fossil,” which was abbrevi- 
ated, for convenience, to the “ v. f.” 

Disrespectful as this attitude was, there were a good 
many grains of truth in the criticism that Mr. Sanborn 
was behind the times in a variety of ways, and not only 
Mr. Sanborn, but the firm. Old, conservative business 
methods have to be overhauled every decade or so, to 
prevent the establishment where they are rigidly 
observed from becoming outstripped in the commercial 
race, and sometimes mere youths, whose experience 
and judgment are as naught, are the first to perceive 
the necessity. Certainly, Carleton & Hazard made but 
little money in the first eighteen months after the 
death of the senior partner, and yet the firm had pur- 
sued precisely the same course as for years past. There 
were no very heavy losses, but somehow the profits did 
not accumulate as they had been wont to do. It was 


Harold as a Tartar . 


237 


an anxious period for Bill. He was disposed, naturally, 
to think that his business acumen was at fault, but 
neither Mr. Hazard nor Mr. Sanborn could point out 
where he had failed to observe the traditions of the 
house, and sound, commercial principles. He pondered 
and worried and fumed, and then at last it began to 
dawn upon him that the trouble might be that there 
were quicker and better methods of doing the same bus- 
iness, and that his was no longer what is called a “ live 
concern.” He had already perceived, by studying the 
books, that the profits had begun to fall off in the year 
prior to his father’s death, which betokened that he was 
not necessarily to blame for the subsequent shrinkage ; 
and by one consideration and another, he was led to 
perceive that the affairs of the firm needed a thorough 
revision. 

While in this state of perplexity, Bill found the covert 
allusions to old fogy ways, which Harold, and, to some 
measure, Lemuel, ventured to give vent to in his pres- 
ence, highly exasperating. As Violet had foretold, 
Harold had been seized with a sudden ambition to dis- 
tinguish himself as a business man. He had put aside 
boyish interests, and he wore already the airs of a young 
Napoleon of finance. Lemuel, who lacked initiative, 
but was an excellent imitator, hung upon his words, 
and together they were prepared, after a year's service 
in the office, to conduct any business under the sun. 
Bill chafed and pulled at his lip savagely in watching 
and listening to them, especially as he was beginning to 
recognize that, despite the arrant nonsense they talked^ 
there was, so far as Carleton & Hazard were concerned, 
considerable truth in their strictures. Harold reminded 


238 


The Carletons. 


him of himself at the same age in the air of importance 
which he had assumed, with this very vital difference 
that he had been willing to respect and follow the 
advice of others, whereas Harold thought he knew it 
all from the start. Violet had not foretold a develop- 
ment precisely of this kind. Nor, it must be confessed, 
did down-town influences tend to sober Harold’s tastes in 
other respects. Now that he was a man in business, he 
had a right, so he claimed, to come and go in the even- 
ings as he saw fit, and he further saw fit not to change 
his companions. Instead of throwing over Charley 
Daggett for Lemuel Hazard, he introduced Lemuel to 
Charley, and added another pal to a crew whose time 
after business hours was habitually wasted in idle 
living. 

At the time when Violet went away to the hospital, 
she made Constance acquainted with her misgivings 
regarding Harold, and her sister had promised to keep 
an eye on him. Violet had been successful enough in 
ingratiating herself with him and establishing terms of 
confidence up to a certain point ; but whenever she 
attempted to reason with him seriously, Harold would 
devote his energies to making her laugh, and so avoid 
the continuation of wearisome topics by promising to 
show improvement, with a jest on his lips. The same 
tactics proved futile with Constance. She had under- 
taken the responsibility with the gravest interest, and 
was not to be thwarted by badinage or diverted by 
amusing digressions. As a consequence, Harold 
became irritated at first, then bland and secretive, and 
finally, when he found himself unable either to offend 
or hoodwink her, he was presently touched by her sis- 


Harold as a Tartar . 


239 


terly devotion, and declared his gratitude. His con- 
trition was entirely genuine; with breaking voice he 
vowed to give up his evil courses with every intention 
of doing so. From this hour he idolized Constance 
though they had really but little in common. Indeed, 
it was because she seemed to him of such different clay 
that he was ready to adore her. Before the world he 
continued to be volatile and bumptious, but he was ever 
willing to listen submissively to what she had to say. 

As regards actual conduct, too, he appeared to her 
evidently to make an effort to keep straight. Constance 
had been quick to perceive that affection for her was the 
sole influence that would deter him from yielding to 
self-indulgence ; and without nagging him, she 
endeavored to let him see that her interest never 
flagged. She could not tell certainly what he did when 
he was away from her ; but he passed some of his 
evenings at home, and he was always eager on such 
occasions to hold a skein of wool for her or to read to 
her, or otherwise to be employed in her service. 
Constance judged, however, that he must continue to 
associate to some extent with Charley Daggett and his 
other old cronies, from the fact that he alluded to them 
as little as possible. 



CHAPTER XXVII. 

“the chariot race.” 

While Constance was thus interesting herself in 
Harold, Violet, Bill and Ben were severally much 
absorbed in their respective pursuits. The hopse 
seemed very quiet. Violet was so busy at the hospital 
that she was but rarely at home ; Bill went down town 
early and returned late ; his anxious brow rarely 
relaxed, and he was evidently in no mood for sociability. 
As for Ben, he was so wrapt in his art that he begrudged 
the hours necessary for eating and sleeping. 

In deciding definitely to be an artist, Ben had reached 
a general rather than a particular conclusion ; he had 
vowed to devote himself to art as a mistress, but it 
had still remained for him to select the especial branch 
of his calling in which he hoped to excel. He had 
entertained successive visions of himself as a portrait 
painter, a landscape painter, a painter of the ideal or a 
delineator of realism, with the feeling that he would try 
his hand at each kind as soon as he got fairly to work, 
and determine accordingly the direction of his subse- 
quent endeavor. Although his sketches were what had 
originally attracted Mr. Short’s attention, and although 
at the suggestion of that same gentleman, he began to 










The Chariot Race . 


241 


<< 


study carefully the principles' of drawing, he began 
naturally, too, to thrill witn the hope of doing something 
excellent with paint. He yearned to stand before a broad 
canvas with palette and brush, and produce a master- 
piece. Although he had now and then done little bits, 
both in water-color and oil, he had never fairly tried to 
paint a good-sized picture. He therefore devoted his 
chief energies to learning the value of color, and before 
many weeks had elapsed he had conceived and begun a 
piece of work with which he trusted to carry the com- 
munity by storm. The subject was an ambitious one — 
a Roman chariot race — and it was with the greatest 
secrecy that he smuggled the necessary expanse of can- 
vas into the house so that no one should suspect what he 
was up to. 

As a studio, he had fitted up a room in the attic, 
enlarging the window in the roof in such a manner as to 
let in abundant light, and there he shut himself up a 
such times as he was in the house. He refused to admit 
any one to this sanctum after he had begun operations 
on the masterpiece ; and to make sure that his secret 
was not divulged, he locked the door of the room when- 
ver he went away. Not even to Mr. Short, and much 
less to any of his family, did he give a hint as to what 
he was doing, and, although there was some curiosity 
occasioned in the household by his refusal to allow 
admission, it was supposed that he felt reluctant to have 
his first efforts scrutinized. 

From month to month Ben worked unrelentingly, and 
out of chaos he perceived his subject gradually assume 
form. He eagerly ransacked books of history and 
encyclopedias in order to reproduce exactly the costume 


242 


The Carletons. 


and spirit of the Roman age ; and pored over prints to 
ascertain every detail of costume, harness, armor and 
architecture. Regarding the merit of his picture he 
went through successive phases of intoxicating hope 
and clammy discouragement. One day he felt that he 
had won fame beyond all question, but on the next may 
be the canvas would seem fairly to bristle with defects 
and insipidity. He had certainly treated his theme 
boldly. The spectator saw the two chariots dashing 
toward him abreast of the goal, one but a hair’s breadth 
in advance of the other, the driver of which stood urg- 
ing with uplifted thong, his foaming horses to win the 
race already lost. Above the goal arose the surging tiers 
of the amphitheatre, half -veiled by the group of ruler 
and officials in the foreground. For the representation 
of this spectacle he had employed a canvas seven feet 
long and three feet high. 

Meantime, at the school of design, where he worked 
at regular hours — for his masterpiece was really the 
product of his spare time — he could perceive that he 
was making progress in the use of his pencil, and sup- 
plementing his hitherto untutored skill by scientific and 
accurate knowledge. He appreciated that proficiency 
in drawing would be of immense service to him in his 
future work, which he was sure now would be the 
painting of large pictures. Did not one hear it said of 
many a promising artist that his skill in the use of 
color was neutralized by his inability to draw correctly ? 
On this account, herefore, he continued to take an inter- 
est in sketches, but he professed to think very little of 
them on their own account. They were all very well^ 
but he aimed higher. Now and then, when he chanced 


“ The Chariot Race .” 


243 


to be in fine spirits, and something struck his sense of the 
ludicrous, he would dash off at his desk, with a few 
bold strokes, a cartoon that was passed from hand to 
hand among his fellow-students and admired for its 
cleverness. But Ben saw fit to laugh disdainfully when 
congratulated on these offsprings of his fancy, as though 
he considered them very small potatoes. 

It was more than a year and a half after he had 
entered the Academy of Design that “The Chariot 
Race” neared completion. Ben had been about nine 
months at work upon it, and he had begun to be very 
impatient to get it done. His funds were very low ; 
he had only a few dollars left of the one hundred and 
nineteen dollars and seventy-five cents, and he had 
gleaned from Bill’s face and allusions by his mother that 
the family finances were at low ebb. Uncertain as he 
still was as to the merit of his work, there were moments 
when he could not help feeling transported by the hope 
of coming to his mother’s rescue with the proceeds of a 
sale that would relieve them all from uneasiness for the 
time being, and would give assurance of future 
income. How glorious it would be to dispose of “ The 
Chariot Race ” for a handsome sum in cash that would 
enable him to smile triumphantly at Bill ! Why not ? 
Other men had leaped to the front as artists at their first 
venture, and why should not he ? 

So alternately elated with hope and bowed down by 
doubt did Ben become as the picture approached com- 
pletion, that he resolved at last to make a confidant of 
one person. This was his old friend Harrison Fay, who, 
after graduating at the Scientific School as a civil 
engineer, had fixed upon electrical engineering as a 


244 


The Carletons. 


specialty, and was established in town. He and Ben 
were renewing with gusto their intimacy, which had 
almost necessarily languished under the ordeal of 
letter-writing, and were fighting over again, face to 
face, during the walks they took together on Sundays, 
and at such times as they could spare from their work, 
the problems concerning which they had disputed so 
ardently on paper three years ago. Harrison, after 
being infatuated by numerous branches of science, had 
become absolutely enthralled by the problems of elec- 
tricity, and was eager to distinguish himself by some 
discovery in the field where all sorts of possibilities 
seemed open. He had developed into a broad- 
shouldered, powerful-looking man, with a deep bass 
voice and a dark beard, and he was just the same height 
as Ben, who was still thin and spindly, though tougher 
than ever, as he himself was proud to declare. Nothing 
delighted Harrison more than to take the train to 
Hampton or some other suburb on a holiday, and 
ramble with Ben, as they had used to do when they 
were boys, observing nature and discussing their 
mutual interests. 

It was in the course of one of these jaunts that Ben, 
who had been tempted more than once to confide his 
secret to his old friend, let the cat out of the bag. Harri- 
son was appropriately cordial on the subject, and 
expressed curiosity to see “ The Chariot Race ” at the 
first opportunity. 

“ I will let you see it only on one condition,” said Ben, 

“ which is that you will promise, on your word of honor, 
to tell me exactly what you think of it. If you don’t 
like it, I wish you to tell me so.” 


“ The Chariot Race? 


245 


Harrison agreed to the condition, saying : 

“You’re welcome to my opinion, such as it is, Ben. 
I know very little about pictures, anyway. I merely 
know whether I like a picture or whether I don’t, but I 
can’t give reasons ; and if another fellow were to 
declare me all wrong, I couldn’t prove I wasn’t ; so I 
don’t see that I can help you much. But I’m impatient 
to see your magnui?i opus , and I’ve no doubt it is a 
hummer.” 

“ I've a great deal of doubt about it. Sometimes I feel 
that it looks pretty well, and then, again, it reminds me 
of a chromo.” 

It was agreed that Harrison should come to the 
house on the following day, at a time when the light 
was most favorable for the inspection. All the next 
morning Ben felt too nervous to work, and awaited his 
friend’s arrival with feverish impatience. He felt that 
if Harrison were enthusiastic, he might venture to let 

The Chariot Race ” be seen by Mr. Short. Harrison 
was punctual, and having mounted the stairs to the 
studio, found himself, when he entered, confronting a 
broad expanse of cotton cloth with which Ben concealed 
his master-piece from possible scrutiny through the 
keyhole. Ben carefully locked the door, and giving 
Harrison a chair, the only one in the apartment, estab- 
lished himself on the edge of a soap-box, in which he 
kept some of his painting apparatus. 

“ I say, old fellow,” remarked the visitor, who seemed 
to be chewing the cud of reflection, as he took the prof- 
fered seat, “ I suppose that was one of your sisters 
whom I met as I came upstairs ? Tall, with dark hair.” 

“ Yes, my sister Violet.” 


246 


The Carle tons. 


“ I shouldn't have known her. It’s a good long while 
since I’ve seen her. She is very handsome, Ben.” 

“ I think so myself. She’s in the hospital ; one of the 
nurses, you know. She has been there a year and a 
half, and she is absorbed in the work.” 

“You don’t mean so.” Harrison was pensive a 
moment, then he said : “ Rather a different life than 

balls and dinner-parties, which is the life so many girls 
lead.” 

“ Violet did her fair show of those in her day,” 
answered Ben. “ But she found, like the rest of us, as 
she grew older, that she needed a real interest of some 
kind to make her happy, and I think she has found it.” 

“ I see.” Harrison whistled softly in an abstracted 
manner and tapped the wooden floor with his cane ; 
but suddenly realizing that he had come there for a 
purpose, he looked up and said : “ Well, let’s see the 

show.” 

“You remember your promise?” replied Ben, who 
was sitting with folded arms on the edge of the soap- 
box. “You will tell me on your word of honor what 
you think of it ?” 

“ Aye, aye.” 

Ben arose, and standing in front of the large canvas, 
whisked off the covering and displayed “ The Chariot 
Race.” Instead of looking at his friend, he walked a 
few paces beyond the picture and deposited the sheet 
in the corner. For an instant he stood waiting as 
though expecting to hear something, then he turned 
and regarded Harrison. Harrison was looking intently 
at the picture with a compression of the lips that made 


“ The Chariot Race 


247 


Ben’s heart stand still. He seemed to be striving for 
something to say and just then he said it : 

“It is very — er — interesting, Ben — very. I should 
think you had reproduced the effect of a chariot race 
exactly. Yes, it is certainly very interesting.” 

Their eyes met at the moment, and Ben, turning 
abruptly, walked toward the soap-box. 

“ Thanks,” he answered, in a quiet, short tone. 

There was another pause ; then Harrison said again : 

“ I think that it has a great many excellent points, 
and that the subject is a capital one.” 

“ You mean by that you think it is a complete failure. 
Why don’t you say so ?” 

Harrison flushed to the roots of his hair at the sound 
of these deliberate words spoken behind him. For an 
instant he made no response ; then, still looking at the 
picture as though he were striving to hit upon some 
feature of merit with which to refute this bald asser- 
tion, he replied : 

“ I do not think so at all, Ben. I — I think it has a 
great many fine points. I do, indeed,” he added, facing 
around to meet the gaze of the unhappy artist, who, 
however, squatted on the soap-box, was looking deject- 
edly at the floor, with his cheeks between his hands. 

“ You may not think, perhaps, that it is the worst 
picture you have ever seen in your life ; I am sure 
myself that it isn’t, but you can’t deny that you don’t 
think very much of it. You have the same as told me 
so already.” 

Harrison could fairly have said that he had never 
been so uncomfortable in his life. For an instant or 
two there was a conflict in his mind between the instinct 


248 


The Carle tons. 


of truth and that of pity for the friend whose illusions 
his lukewarm verdict was so ruthlessly dispelling ; but 
the conviction that to be frank was the truest friendship 
prevailed so far in the end that he replied : 

“ If you mean, Ben, whether I think it one of the 
finest pictures I have ever seen — or — that it will make 
your eternal reputation, well, I must admit, that I do 
not. But I may be entirely mistaken about that, as I 
told you the other day. That it has plenty of merit 
though, it seems to me every one will agree ; and 
while, if I am right, it may not — er — take the world by 
storm, it is certainly, as a first attempt, decidedly credit- 
able.” 

The words were uttered as though they had been 
wrenched from his lips. When he came to a pause 
there was a painful silence. 

“ Thanks,” said Ben, again ; but this time the irony 
of his tone was tempered by mournful humility. 

“ You know you made me promise to tell you exactly 
what I thought,” said Harrison, who was alive to the 
bitterness of it. 

“ I did, and you have acted like a man. I’m not blam- 
ing you, Harrison, don’t think for a moment. I am 
grateful to you. But I — I can’t help feeling a little 
disappointed. I’ve worked at it so long and so hard 
that I cannot bear to think it isn’t good. But you’re 
right — I can see it now, myself.” 

“I feel like a brute, old fellow. My opinion isn’t 
worth a button, as far as criticism goes. It may be 
I’m completely wrong.” 

Ben interrupted him with an impatient gesture and 
continued : 


“ The Chariot Race. 


249 


“ No, you’re perfectly right. It’s plain enough to me 
now, and I ought to have seen it before. I did realize 
it sometimes, but then the glamour would blind my eyes. 
Now I can see as well as you or any one else that it’s a 
mere daub.” 

“ Not that, Ben, at all.” 

“ Oh, well, it may be as you say, creditable as a first 
attempt, but even as to that I have my doubts. It is 
painstaking and faithful and all that, but it lacks the 
something which makes a picture a picture. It is pains- 
taking, but it is commonplace. In short, it’s a chromo 
— yes, a chromo,” he repeated, with a sort of fierce 
jubilation. 

Harrison made no answer, but prodded with his cane 
at a crack in the floor, seeking, perhaps, for fitting words 
of encouragement. The next moment, Ben, with an 
impetuous “here goes, then,” had snatched up a brush, 
and, plunging it into a pot of paint, was in the act of 
rushing upon his masterpiece with furious intent, when 
his arm was stayed. 

“ What are you trying to do, Ben ? Stop ! Are you 
crazy ?” 

Checked by Harrison’s grasp from further progress, 
he was yet able to hurl the brush with impetus. His 
aim was so far disturbed, however, that it missed the 
central figures which it was intended to mar, and struck 
merely one corner of the canvas, which it spattered with 
a few black drops. Harrison, with his arms about Ben’s 
neck, led him to the chair, on which he sank, covering 
his face with his hands, convulsed with anguish. For 
ten minutes he wept thus, while Harrison sat beside 
him holding his hand as a woman might have done. 


250 


The Carletons. 


When at last he looked up, it was with a sad, but firm 
smile, which shone like a rainbow through his tears. 

“ Well, that is over. But I am not beaten yet.” 

“ Beaten ? Not a bit of it, old man.” 

“But I mean to be an artist. I have it in me, 
Harrison. I may not succeed in one line, but I will in 
another. See if I don’t !” 

“ I am sure of that, too. Dear old Ben ! This has 
been one of the cruellest days of my life. Can you ever 
forgive me ?” 

“ It was the part of a true friend to tell me the truth, 
and I should have hated you if you had deceived me. 
I am glad on the whole,” he added, quietly, looking at 
the picture, “ that you did not let me spoil it.” 




CHAPTER XXVIII. 

BEN TRIES A NEW TACK. 

When announcing to Harrison Fay his faith in him- 
self, notwithstanding the downfall of his hopes regard- 
ing “ The Chariot Race,” Ben had spoken but vaguely, 
He had nothing specific in his mind ; only an indefinite 
yet determined intention to succeed as an artist in spite 
of his first failure. He arose, therefore, on the follow- 
ing morning in a gloomy frame of mind. While under 
the influence of excitement, his fortitude had kept him 
up, but now that he was left to the bitterness of his own 
reflection, he felt a good deal like drowning himself. 
The strangest thing of all to him was that he had not 
perceived earlier the imperfections in his masterpiece. 
How commonplace and mediocre it was ! And yet, 
until Harrison’s inability to dissemble had unsealed his 
eyes, he had fancied it to be possibly a great picture. 
Although no longer in a destructive mood, the sight of 
the canvas was painful to him, and he proceeded to dis- 
mount it from the easel and turn its face toward the 
wall. 

At dinner that day, Violet, who was off duty, and so 
happened to be at home, inquired if the young man 
whom she had encountered on the landing the after- 


252 


The Carle tons. 


noon before could possibly be Harrison Fay. She 
explained, laughingly, that, hearing his step on the 
stairs, she had supposed him to be one of her brothers, 
and had come out of her room to speak to him, and they 
had met face to face. . 

“ How he has filled out, Ben,’' she continued, on learn- 
ing that her supposition was correct. “He used to be 
almost as slender as you, but now he is decidedly broad- 
shouldered, to say nothing of his beard, which gives him 
quite an august appearance.” 

Although in no sense offended with his friend, Ben 
did not feel exactly in the humor to discuss him. The 
mention of Harrison’s name only served to intensify the 
misery from which he was suffering ; so he changed the 
subject as promptly as possible. That second night he 
slept little, chafing with mortification and discourage- 
ment ; but he got up in the morning with a resolve to go 
to work again vigorously. Since he had failed in color, 
why should he not attempt something with his pencil ? 
This would be less ambitious, but, after all, it was in the 
way of drawing that he had had practice, and was really 
tolerably proficient. The idea occurred to him when he 
was on his way to the School of Design, and before the 
day was over, he had become so cheerful that he found 
himself sketching a cartoon before he knew it. It was 
one of his off-hand sketches, and he worked at it as a 
sort of stimulus to his thoughts ; but, curiously enough, 
one of his fellow-students who had admired his clever- 
ness in this line before, and was looking over his 
shoulder, happened to remark : 

. “ If I were able to do things like that, Carleton, I’d 
send them to a magazine,” 


Ben Tries a New Tack . 


253 


Ben, who was struck by the idea, at once stopped, and 
said : 

“ What magazine ? I don’t understand.” 

“ Oh, any of them. There are plenty, and their illus- 
trations are half the time not so good as yours. I know 
a man who makes a very decent living by doing work of 
this kind, illustrating books and articles. You have an 
advantage, too, in being able to be humorous or serious, 
just as you feel inclined. I should think you’d go in 
for something of the sort.” 

Ben asked one or two more questions which showed 
he was interested, but his fellow-students little guessed 
how opportune was the suggestion, or how quickly it 
would be acted upon. Ben went home fired with the 
idea of doing something at once, stopping on the way at 
the public library to examine the various illustrated 
periodicals and papers. There were plenty of them to 
be sure, and he recognized with satisfaction some of the 
cuts were no better than what he thought he could do 
himself. Why had the idea never occurred to him 
before ? He would prepare a sketch both in the serious 
and in the comic line straightway, and try his fortune 
as an illustrator. 

Warned by his recent experience, Ben did not allow 
himself to become too hopeful ; but he was conscious, as 
the new work progressed, of feeling very much more at 
home at it than he had felt when delineating “ The 
Chariot Race.” A week of careful industry sufficed 
for the completion of the two sketches, concerning which 
he was this time completely tongue-tied. In fear and 
trembling he dispatched them to different magazines and 
awaited the result. He had expected to hear from 


254 


The Ccirletons. 


them within a few days, but a fortnight passed without 
news from either, so that he began to be haunted by 
fears that they had never been delivered. Perhaps he 
had not put sufficient postage on them and they had 
gone to the dead-letter office. He remembered, too, 
having heard that the magazines were overrun with 
contributions, and that, without a well-known name or 
a letter of introduction from some one of note in a 
literary or artistic way, proffered matter was consigned 
to the waste-paper basket. Consequently oppressed by 
these and similar forebodings, Ben stalked about the 
house in a blue maze, unable to fix his mind on anything 
until he knew his fate. Of his two sketches, one was a 
political cartoon, the other an idyllic social study. 

On the sixteenth morning, the postman brought him 
a missive that set him trembling like an aspen, for on 
the margin of the package appeared the name and scroll 
of one of the self-same magazines. Then suddenly it 
came over him that his contribution must have been 
returned. If otherwise, why this thick inclosure ? A 
mere line would have sufficed had his sketch been 
acceptable. Clearly they had not been satisfied, with. it, 
and here it was back on his hands. 

He undid with a sinking heart the seals which held 
the coarse wrapping-paper in place, and as he caught 
sight of the same card-board walls in which he had 
inclosed his social study to protect it from mutilation, 
his last ray of hope vanished. He had failed again. 

Mechanically he went through the process of remov- 
ing the sheets of card-board ; but when he had done so 
he perceived an envelope lying inside next to his sketch. 
It was addressed to him, and he divined it to be a notice 


Ben Tries a New Tack. 


255 


from the editor declining his contribution. On opening 
it he perceived to his surprise that it was quite a long 
letter. What could this mean ? 

He read wonderingly, then eagerly. The letter was 
from the editor, and a kind, encouraging letter it was. 
The sketch was declined, it was true, as being unadapted 
to the magazine, for the reason, as the writer explained, 
that their articles were illustrated to order and that 
illustrations without accompanying text were conse- 
quently unacceptable. But, as he went on to say, he 
had been so much struck by the talent of the contri- 
bution that he felt the desire to see more of the artist’s 
work, and if Ben were so disposed, he would send him 
an article to illustrate. In conclusion, he named terms 
for so doing that seemed to Ben in his penniless condi- 
tion nearly fabulous, and asked for an immediate reply. 

Ben felt like shouting for joy. Here was a beginning 
at last. He was practically engaged to do work for a 
magazine in return for real, actual money. With danc- 
ing eyes he read again and re-read the letter, scarcely 
trusting his own senses, and fearful either that there 
was some mistake, or that the apparently kind-hearted 
editor was in reality hurling at him subtle sarcasm. But 
there it stood in black and white. Moreover, in keeping 
with the adage that one piece either of good or bad 
fortune is apt to beget another, there arrived for him, 
the following morning, two letters, one of which he 
knew, from the handwriting, was from Percy White ; 
the second he perceived to be from the comic periodical 
to which he had sent his political cartoon. It was a thin 
envelope, which could not possibly contain his sketch, so 
it was plain that it had not been returned. Within was 


256 


The Carle tons. 


a single sheet of note-paper, out of which, as Ben unfolded 
it, a slip escaped and fluttered to the floor. The con- 
tents were eminently to the point. The editor begged 
to inclose his check for fifteen dollars, in payment for the 
political cartoon sent by Mr. Benjamin Fitch Carleton, 
and to solicit a second contribution. 

Ben felt fairly delirious. Here was almost too much 
good fortune. He picked up the slip of paper in a dazed 
sort of fashion, and stared at it and the editorial 
announcement alternately. Then suddenly he dashed 
out of the room and up the stairs, crying : 

“ Mother ! Mother ! Con ! Con !” 

Constance overheard him, and opening the door of her 
room, came out to meet him. 

“ Oh, Con, it’s all right at last ! See here ; ” and he 
held out the check and the letter from the comic peri- 
odical. “ And read this, too,” he added, thrusting his 
hand into his breast-pocket in search of the other editor’s 
letter. In so doing, he let that from Percy, which he 
had neglected to open, and which he had been holding 
in his hand, drop to the ground. 

While Constance read the two letters, he chanced to 
spy the envelope at his feet, and picked it up, exclaim- 
ing : 

“ Here is a letter from Percy, too. I had quite foi 
gotten it, in my excitement.” 

“ From Percy White ?” inquired his sister, gently, 
though she guessed perfectly well who was meant. 
“ This is glorious, Ben,” she continued, reverting to the 
letter of acceptance which she had just finished. 
“ When do you suppose it will be published ? Fifteen 


Ben Tries a New Tack , 


257 


dollars, too, and the prospect of more. How splendid ! 
And you kept it so dark.” 

“ But that isn’t all. Read the other, too.” 

While Constance perused the longer story, Ben lost 
himself in the contents of Percy’s effusion. She inter- 
rupted him with further congratulations, in answer to 
which he cried, exultantly : 

“ Yes ; it’s first-rate ; and you’ll he pleased to hear, 
too, Con, that Percy has had another promotion. 
There’s been a strike on the railroad where he is, and 
he seems to have behaved well and showed a good deal 
both of sense and firmness at the same time. Pm just 
in the middle of it. You shall see it in a minute. 
Here, look at this,” he added, handing her a newspaper 
clipping which was inclosed. “ It seems to be about 
the strike.” 

Constance took the paper with ill-concealed eager- 
ness. Why did her hand tremble so ? It provoked 
her that it should even while she felt her heart bound 
as she read the complimentary language in which Mr. 
Percy White’s promotion to be assistant superintendent 
of an important branch of the road was described. She 
drank in every word and had begun to read it over 
again when Ben broke in with : 

“ Holloa ! Here is a message for you, Con. ‘ Please 
give my kindest remembrances to your sister. She is 
forever — ’ ” Ben stopped, awkwardly. “ I guess the rest 
is intended for me alone. But,” he went on, with a gay 
laugh and toss of his head, “ you’d better hear it. ‘ She 
is forever in my thoughts ; I shall never forget her as 
long as I live.’ There, sister mine, do you hear that ? 
The man is in love with you, and I prophesy that his 




The Carletons. 


heart is fixed on coming back some day and trying to 
persuade you to be his wife. Sing hey to you ; good 
day to you ; and what have you to say ?” 

Constance looked confused at this sally, and her 
nature prompted her to assume an air of dignity as she 
said : 

“ Your success seems to have turned your head, Ben. 
I am delighted, of course, to hear of Mr. White’s pro- 
motion, and — I am glad that he has not altogether for- 
gotten me. But I think you had better clip your 
imagination and draw the line there.” Then she saw 
fit to add, archly : “ Besides, it doesn’t follow because 
he says your sister that he means me. There are two 
of us, you know.” 

“ Oh, doesn’t it !” cried Ben, who had been rather 
flabbergasted by her first words. “You’re a fraud, 
Constance. That’s what you are ; a regular fraud. I 
suspected it before, and now I know it.” 

“ Supected what ?” she asked, with crimsoning cheeks 
and a half -pleased laugh. 

“ That you’re a fraud — a pious fraud. Well, all I can 
say is I fervently hope it will come out all right. You 
have my entire blessing, if that’s what you are waiting 
for.” 

Constance looked grave again. 

“ I’m sure I don’t know, Ben, what you are talking 
about or what you mean. As I said before, your happi- 
ness has turned your head.” 

“ Well, Con,” he replied, jubilantly, “ I do admit that 
for once I am really happy.” 



CHAPTER XXIX. 

THE PROPHESIED HAPPENS. 

One morning*, within a month after, Mrs. Carleton 
received a telegram announcing that Cousin Rebecca 
Hubbard had been struck with paralysis and was in an 
unconscious condition. No one of the children hap- 
pened to be in the house at the time, so she set out 
alone for Hampton. But her visit was fruitless. Cousin 
Rebecca could recognize no one and died within an 
hour after the arrival of Mrs. Carleton, who reached 
home at night-fall with the news. The funeral took 
place two days later, and after it there was considera- 
ble quiet curiosity in the Carleton household as to what 
Cousin Rebecca had done with her money. If she had 
left no will Mrs. Carleton would be one of half a dozen 
nearest of kin to divide the property. But they were 
all agreed that Cousin Rebecca was too precise and par- 
ticular a woman not to have settled her affairs. 

“ There’s no doubt in my mind,” said Ben, “ that Har- 
old will get the biggest slice, so far as we five are con- 
cerned. Father used to tell us not to covet anybody’s 
money, and I can honestly disclaim — as can we all, for 
the matter of that — having ever raised a finger to 
propitiate the poor old lady. She didn’t like us, and 



26 o 


The Carletons . 


we never took pains to win her over, which we might 
have done, had we been mercenarily inclined. As for Har- 
old, he can’t be accused of not having done his best to 
spoil his chances, when he called her a 1 pouty swill-bar- 
rel.’ It wasn’t his fault that she took a fancy to him 
ever after. It only proves that it is better to be born 
lucky than rich. I will admit, though,” he added, “ that 
just at this stage of our impecuniosity a cool hundred 
or two — you see I am not grasping — would rejoice the 
soul of one member of this family. Proud as I am, I 
admit that it would come in handy.” 

“ You bet your sweet life it would,” said Bill, who spoke 
thus vigorously, from a realizing sense that the family 
finances were in sore need of replenishment. 

“A few years ago,” said Violet, “ I should have been 
just crazy with curiosity. Well, I own,” she continued, 
with a reflective laugh, “ that I’m crazy with curiosity 
still, but it’s more because I’m a woman, and wish to 
know what Cousin Rebecca has done with her fortune 
than because I have any great desire that she should 
leave it to me ; I suppose it would be pleasant to be 
rich, and that if it were left to me I should take it — ” 

A general laugh interrupted this condescending 
remark before its completion, and Bill interjected : 

“ If I was to have it in case you refused it, I wouldn’t 
give a copper coin for my chance.” 

Violet laughed. 

“Well, I suppose I shouldn’t actually refuse it when 
it came to the point. What I meant was that three 
years ago I thought there was nothing in the world 
worth having except money, and now I know that — 
well, that I’m not so dependent on it, that’s all.” 


The Prophesied Happens . 


261 


“ Right you are, Vi,” said Ben. “There’s art and 
there’s hospital work, if there’s nothing else, and we’d 
rather be poor and follow our bents, than be the heirs to 
all Cousin Rebecca’s money and do what we don’t want 
to do. Amen say I.” 

“ That’s about it. But it was rather an idiotic remark 
for me to have made, all the same,” she said, blushing 
with the consciousness of having unwittingly seemed to 
pose as a pattern of unworldliness. “ I didn’t mean, 
Bill, to point a moral. I was only thinking out loud, and 
congratulating myself on the prospect of not being so 
much cast down by the probable results, as I should 
have been if Cousin Rebecca had died when I was nine- 
teen.” 

“We all understand what you meant, my darling, and 
I thank God that it is so,” said her mother, pressing her 
hand affectionately ; an action which brought the flush 
of pleasure to the cheek of Violet, in place of that caused 
by annoyance at a speech so unlike her usual utter- 
ances. 

All uncertainty was brought to an end on the follow- 
ing day by the announcement that Cousin Rebecca had 
left a last will and testament, dated a year prior to her 
death, the terms of which had evidently been carefully 
considered. Cousin Rebecca had plainly wished to be 
just toward her kith and kin and yet follow her own 
inclinations at the same time. Of the six cousins, of 
which Mrs. Carleton was one, who stood in equal rela- 
tionship to the testatrix, all were married and had chil- 
dren, some fifteen in number, including the five Carle- 
tons. Cousin Rebecca had seen fit to pass over the first 
generation entirely, and to leave to fourteen of these 


262 


The Carlctons . 


fifteen descendants twenty-five hundred dollars apiece. 
The one omitted from this general class was Harold. 
To him she bequeathed the handsome sum of seventy- 
five thousand dollars. All the rest and residue of her 
property was divided between two charitable institutions. 
Her entire estate amounted to about one hundred and 
fifty thousand dollars. 

There was naturally great excitement among the 
Carletons. Harold was congratulated heartily on his in- 
heritance, which was none the less a surprise because it 
had been prophesied ; for, after all, everything had been 
mere conjecture as to what disposition Cousin Rebecca 
would make of her property. Insignificant as were 
their legacies in comparison with his, the others felt that 
they had cause to congratulate themselves on receiving 
anything whatever, so that there was general satisfac- 
tion, and a recognition that Cousin Rebecca had been 
more than liberal to their branch of the family. The 
twenty-five hundred dollars apiece had come most oppor- 
tunely for Bill, and seemed to Ben a veritable windfall 
that was almost wealth. To be a capitalist possessed of 
interest-bearing securities was a condition of estate 
which Ben had never hoped to reach until the dim 
future, after years of toil ; yet here he was sure of one 
hundred and twenty-five dollars a year so long as he 
lived. How delightful to know that whenever he was 
in need of funds he had henceforth only to take out one 
of the three pieces of parchment covered with hierogly- 
phics which had been given to him, and cut off a little 
ticket called a coupon. Coupled with his previous good 
fortune, it seemed to him now that he was thoroughly 
in clover. 



CHAPTER XXX. 

HAROLD AS A NAPOLEON OF FINANCE. 

Prior to the opening- of the will, Harold rather indi- 
cated, by the complacent air with which he listened to 
the remarks of his brothers and sisters as to his pros- 
pects that he had hopes of getting something, if any of 
them did ; but evidently he had not expected a down- 
pour of this kind. He accented the congratulations 
freely offered him at home and elsewhere with modest 
mien and as though he scarcely realized the significance 
of what had come to pass. This phase, however, did 
not last long ; and to it succeeded a mood of elation 
coupled with renewed self-importance and open-handed 
generosity. Toward Bill his manner waxed somewhat 
disdainfully patronizing, and toward Ben somewhat 
pitifully patronizing ; but he patronized his mother and 
sisters right royally. They should want for nothing ; 
they should have everything in the way of comforts 
that money could afford ; he would reestablish the 
family prosperity on a firm and liberal basis. As an 
earnest of this, he began by taking Constance and 
Violet to the theatre as often as they could be induced 
to go, made handsome gifts of je.welry to them on their 


264 


The Carle tons. 


birthdays, and was prevented from presenting to his 
mother a coupe and horses only by her flat refusal to 
accept them. 

“You are not rich enough, my son. I cannot think 
of it for a moment. One would suppose from the way 
you talk that you had inherited a million instead of 
seventy-five thousand dollars,” protested Mrs. Carleton ; 
but she was immensely touched by these manifestations 
of generosity on the part of her baby; and, indeed, 
there could be no denying that Harold was disposed to 
behave very handsomely. 

For the first six months he found sufficient occupa- 
tion in establishing his wardrobe and general personal 
expenditure on a scale consistent with his altered cir- 
cumstances. To accustom himself to dress fashionably, 
smoke the best cigars and amuse himself about town 
without regard to cost required a certain amount of 
time, though he proved very apt at acquiring the neces- 
sary knowledge. So apt, indeed, that by the time he 
had become habituated to it he was induced to think of 
going into business not only by ambition but by the 
consciousness that, after all, he was not so very rich. 
This last idea became so potent that by the end of 
another month he was describing himself to be poor as 
a church-mouse. What were seventy-five thousand dol- 
lars ? A mere drop in the bucket, a pittance, nothing 
more. But with it as a nest-egg, on the other hand, 
there was a chance to make one’s mark in the world. 
The lumber business had been all very well in the past, 
and his father had derived an honest livelihood from it, 
but it was suffering from dry rot at the moment ; and 
there was the paramount objection that even did it 


Harold as a Napoleon of Finance . 265 


recover from this, it was not the sort of business for an 
ambitious young man to follow nowadays. It might do 
for a plodder who would be content with a modest 
income, and had no ambition to shine socially. His 
ambition was to become a banker ; a stock-broker at the 
outset, and later, as he progressed, a banker. There 
was the calling which promised the most speedy and 
magnificent return, and the one which the cleverest 
men in the country were selecting. 

These arguments were made by him in support of the 
announcement that he and Lemuel Hazard had formed 
a partnership to do business as stock brokers, and in res- 
ponse to the objections to the scheme raised by his eld- 
est brother. Bill had up to this time refrained from 
interfering with Harold’s course, although he considered 
him absurdly extravagant in view of the moderate size 
of his inheritance; but when this plan was announced, 
he hastened to protest, declaring that it was madness 
for two youngsters without business experience to risk 
their all in this wise. But he found himself in a minor- 
ity of one. Even old Mr. Hazard was so far won over 
by the glowing representations of the two youths as to 
their prospects, that he withdrew objection to Lemuel’s 
contributing to the joint enterprise twenty-five thousand 
dollars which had been left him by his mother; a circum- 
stance which Harold used as a convincing argument in 
the family circle. 

“That’s all very well,” said Bill, “ but Mr. Hazard 
knows that even if the twenty-five thousand are lost, he 
has capital enough of his own to start Lemuel with 
afresh; but where would you be, Harold, if your seventy- 
five thousand were gone?” 


266 


The Carle tons. 


“ And why should it go any quicker than mother’s 
money in the lumber business ? I suppose you would 
like me to sink it in that, but I think it is just as well for 
us not to put all our eggs in one basket, thank you. I 
don’t see that you are warranted by great results in 
assuming that you know such a terrible lot about busi- 
ness, anyway.” 

Bill glared at his traducer a moment, then shrugged 
his shoulders, and turned on his heel. He did not choose 
to demean himself by answering his angry brother. He 
felt that he had done his best to persuade Harold to be 
sensible, but he did not propose to be flaunted by a 
whipper-snapper in return for his good advice, especially 
as his mother and sisters seemed to be of the opinion 
that the conduct of a business of his own would have a 
steadying influence on the would-be financier. 

“ I have said my say,” Bill answered sternly, when 
Mrs. Carleton, who had listened to the conversation and 
reproved Harold after it for his lack of respect toward 
his brother, alluded to the subject anxiously that 
evening. 

“Of course, I don’t pretend to know about such 
things,” she replied, “ but I can’t see really why there 
should be any great risk. Harold assures me that, in a 
strict commission business such as they intend to follow, 
the element of risk is exceedingly small. It is very 
improper in him to be impertinent to you, my dear, and 
I have told him so ; but you know he does not really 
mean it ; and, after all, the money is his, and it is only 
natural for a young man to wish to be independent. I 
should have been very glad if he had been content to 
join forces with you ; but, seeing that he prefers to be 


Harold as a Napoleon of Finance . 267 


independent, I think he will he happier to be allowed 
to have his own way. Besides, there is something, as 
he says, in not putting all the family eggs into one 
basket.” 

To have to listen to insinuations reflecting on his own 
business capacity, in addition to being overruled, was 
bitter for Bill, From Harold’s lips they were exasperat- 
ing enough, but to be doubted ever so slightly by his 
mother cut him to the heart ; all the more so because 
he realized that she had some reason to feel uneasy. 
Nevertheless, the conviction that he was in the right as 
to Harold’s business qualifications, made him feel angry, 
too. 

“ Oh, yes ; the money is his,” he replied dryly. “ I 
only hope it will continue to be. As to joining forces,” he 
added, “ I shall be only too thankful to be rid of both of 
them. They are hindrances to the business at present, 
rather than helps. My advice has been disinterested, to 
say the least.” 

“ I am sure you have meant it to be,” she said. “ But 
don’t you think, Bill, that very often an elder brother 
doesn’t quite realize that a younger one has grown up, 
and, accordingly, does not give him credit for being 
able to do things which he himself did at the same age ? 
I find it hard myself to realize that Harold is not a 
child ; but, after all, when you were twenty, your father 
placed a great deal of confidence in you.” 

Poor Bill ! He found it hard to bear that he and 
Harold should be rated as equals at the same age, and 
by his mother, too. But there was nothing more to be 
said. He felt like shrugging his shoulders again, but 
he merely pulled at his lip and was silent. 



CHAPTER XXXI. 

A TWELVE-MONTH. 

During the course of another year, there was no 
event in the lives of the Carleton family which needs to 
be specifically recorded. Mrs. Carleton continued hale 
and well, and the five children pursued the tenor of 
their several occupations and interests without the inter- 
vention of death or marriage, overwhelming prosperity 
or dire disaster. It can be said, however, that, on the 
whole, each member of the family was happier than he 
or she had been for a long time. In the first place, Bill 
had begun to feel at last that he was making headway 
in his business, which, little by little, he had reorgan- 
ized on a modern basis, in spite of the injury occasioned 
thereby to Mr. Sanborn’s feelings. Chief among the 
innovations had been the introduction of a brisk clerk, 
who, without unnecessarily wounding the old retainer’s 
sensibilities, had virtually superseded him. From the 
date of Cousin Rebecca’s decease, trade had prospered 
with Bill decidedly, and he had the satisfaction, at the 
end of six months, not only of telling his mother that 
she need feel no further concern as to the safety of her 
capital, but, also, of seeing his legacy of twenty-five 


A Twelve-Month . 


269 


hundred dollars, which he had invested in two succes- 
sive lumber transactions, wax fifty per cent, larger. 

For three years care had kept Bill company night and 
day, but now his brow relaxed and he began to take an 
interest in other matters than business. As soon as the 
condition of his affairs seemed secure he solved the 
question of how to shelve Mr. Sanborn and yet to 
gladden the faithful servant’s last days, by taking him 
into the firm and giving him a small interest in the 
business. Before doing so he had once or twice sug- 
gested a pension, but the old clerk had begged to be 
allowed to die in harness, declaring that his sole pleasure 
in existence was service in the firm where his life had 
been spent. When the offer of a partnership was made 
to him he vehemently refused to consider it at first, 
declaring his unworthiness, but the tears of happiness 
in his eyes betrayed his delight at the proposal, and he 
was finally prevailed upon to 'accept the honor. As 
Bill was shrewd enough to divine would be the case, he 
became a partner merely in name, exercising a general 
fatherly supervision over the business, but never seek- 
ing to regulate its conduct nor thwarting the projects of 
his former pupil — toward whom his attitude was almost 
worship. In clearing out the desk occupied by Harold, 
after that young gentleman’s departure, he had happened 
to come across a reference to himself as “ that venerable 
fossil,” which, curiously enough, seemed to tickle his 
risibilities instead of offending him. He spoke of it to 
Bill as a capital witticism, the truth of which could not 
be gainsaid, and often afterward Bill could hear him 
chuckling over it in his seat by the fire. 

“ That venerable fossil. Well — well — well. Who’d 


The Carletons . 


270 


have thought it ? But that’s what I am, I guess ; that’s 
what I am. Ha ! ha ! They were a pair — young Mr. 
Harold and young Mr. Lemuel — and right smart, too. 
God grant they don’t come to grief in that new business 
of theirs !” 

Whereupon, the old man would shake his head doubt- 
fully. So many things that he had looked upon askance 
had been proved beneficial and wise by the new gener- 
ation, that he hesitated now to trust his own judgment 
in almost any matter. 

The aforesaid Masters Harold and Lemuel, had thus 
far certainly disappointed the prognostications of those 
who had foretold disaster from their combination. The 
young firm had made rapid strides in the way of acquir- 
ing a following and making money ; that is, if common 
rumor, which was largely based on their own roseate 
reports and free-handed style of living, was to be taken 
as a criterion. They had opened their new office just 
at a time when stocks were beginning to improve after 
a period of inactivity and depression, and had won a 
reputation for sagacity at once by advocating purchases 
which showed their customers handsome profits in a 
few weeks. As a consequence, Harold was nearly 
bursting with pride and importance. He confided to 
his mother that if the last six months were equal to the 
first their books would show a clear profit of twenty 
thousand dollars by commissions alone, without regard 
to one or two little ventures on their own account which 
they had made only on the strength of inside informa- 
tion, and which had largely swelled their capital. He 
continued making gifts to Constance and Violet on the 
slightest pretext, and he offered good-naturedly to 


A Twelve- Month. 


271 


guarantee to double the legacies which Cousin Rebecca 
had left Ben and his sisters if they would place their 
securities in his hands. Ben was so far tempted by the 
proposal as to consult Bill as to what he thought of it. 

“ I suppose you understand how he expects to accom- 
plish this magnificent result ?” said Bill. 

" I haven’t the least idea, except that I am to give 
him my three bonds, and he promises to double them 
in value.” 

“ What he will do is to buy two hundred shares of 
some stock that he thinks is going up, and your bonds 
will be a margin equal to ten per cent, or so on the cost 
of the two hundred shares.” 

“ Well, isn’t that all right ?” queried Ben, who was 
not much wiser for this information. 

“ It is all right if the stocks go up, but if they go 
down, you are liable to lose your bonds and more, too.” 

“ But he guarantees me against loss.” 

“ That merely means if the stocks go down instead of 
up he will bear the loss himself instead of you.” 

Ben was beginning to understand. 

“ I guess I’d better hold on to my bonds,” he said. 
“I’m doing pretty well with my illustration work, and 
there’s no use in trying to get rich too fast.” 

“ That’s where your head is level, Ben,” was his 
brother’s answer. 

Ben had the melancholy satisfaction of learning from 
Harold, a fortnight later, that if he had followed his 
advice he would have more than doubled his invest- 
ment ; but Ben was too happy in the progress he was 
making in the line of his first success to take his failure 
to do so very much to heart. The illustrations which 


2J2 


The Carle tons. 


he had done for the magazine article sent to him had 
proved acceptable to the friendly editor, who had con- 
sequently given him other orders, and he had speedily 
become by virtue of the success of his cartoons, a regu- 
lar contributor to three or four illustrated periodicals. 
His time, therefore, was pretty thoroughly occupied, 
and he was in the best of spirits. His friend, Mr. Short, 
said to him one day : 

“ You seem to have found your niche in a twinkling, 
Ben. There’s a constantly growing market for work of 
your kind, and while it doesn’t follow that you cannot 
excel in other directions, you evidently have a very happy 
faculty in this particular field, and I’d stick to it for the 
present. 

“ I mean to,” said Ben. “ By the way,” he added, 
“ there’s something in my studio I wish to show you, if 
you have fifteen minutes to spare.” 

This “something,” as may be surmised, was the 
masterpiece, the existence of which he had sedulously 
concealed from his mentor up to this time. It still stood 
with its face to the wall swathed in the cotton sheet. 
Said Ben, after he had placed it again on the easel, but 
before removing the covering : 

“ Be prepared for edification. Here is a sight that 
will— 

* Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their 
spheres ; 

Thy knotted and combined locks to part, 

And each particular hair to stand on end 
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine.* 


A Twelve-Month. 


2 73 


This was completed a year ago, before I found my 
niche,” he added, as he exposed, “ The Chariot Race” to 
view. 

“ Why, Ben ! What is this ?” exclaimed Mr. Short 
in amazed surprise. “ Why, Ben — ” he continued, but 
this time with the uncertainty born of a mixture of 
suppressed mirth and the desire to spare the feelings of 
the young exhibitor. Relief came from an unexpected 
quarter. Ben was shaking with laughter. 

“ What is the matter ?” asked Mr. Short, not unnatur- 
ally bewildered. 

“ I am laughing at your expression. I don’t blame 
you. Isn’t it awful ! I mean the picture — not your 
expression. I only wanted you to see what I was capa- 
ble of ‘ in other directions.’ Ha ! ha ! ha !” 

As soon as Mr. Short realized the truth of the situation 
he was glad to be able to explode on his own account, 
and while he was enjoying a hearty guffaw, Ben enter- 
tained him with full details concerning the history of his 
masterpiece. 

“ I hope no one will ever place me in such a cruel 
situation as I placed Harrison Fay,” he added, in con- 
clusion. “You ought to be thankful I chose him as a 
confidant instead of you. Do you suppose you would 
have been equally honest ?” 

“Whatever the tenderness of my heart might have 
prompted me to say,” answered Mr. Short, giving vent 
to another burst of merriment, “ I doubt if I could have 
controlled my features sufficiently to have given you 
much encouragement. You see, my dear Ben,” he 
added, “I am following your cue in laughing at your 
expense. I hope you do not mind. What are those 


The Carletons . 


274 


black spots in the comer ?” he continued, indicating the 
marks caused by the ruthless brush. “Your sign 
manual ?” 

“ Laugh away. I am bullet-proof and copper-fastened 
on the subject now. Those black spots ? 

1 Look ! in this place ran Cassius’s dagger through ; 

See what a rent the envious Casca made ; 

Through this the well beloved Brutus stabbed.’ 

I was Cassius, Casca and Brutus rolled into one. I did 
it in the bitter throes of disenchantment, meaning to do 
worse. Selah !” 

“ And yet,” remarked Mr. Short presently, when, hav- 
ing sobered down, he began to scrutinize the production 
in detail, “ there are, as your friend Fay said, many good 
points in that picture. It doesn’t follow by any means, 
young man, that you won’t be able to paint a picture 
some day at which no one will be able to laugh. Rome 
wasn’t built in an hour.” 

“ I mean to try, you may depend upon it,” answered 
Ben. “ But I shall begin with something less ambitious 
than a Roman chariot race.” 

It was just about the close of the year referred to at 
the beginning of this chapter, and in October of the 
calendar year, that Mrs. Carleton said one day at the 
dinner-table : 

“ What should you think if Constance and I were to 
spend the winter abroad with Mr. and Mrs. Short ?” 

Her remark was addressed to the assembled family, 
but she naturally looked at Bill as the eldest, and the 
one who held the purse-strings. 


A Twelve-Month. 


275 


“ Mrs. Short invited Constance, yesterday/’ she con- 
tinued, before any one had time to answer. “ She thinks 
the change will do her good, to say nothing of the 
pleasure and advantage in an educational way, of a trip 
to Europe. We got talking about it afterward, and 
finally I was persuaded into saying that I would take 
into consideration both letting Constance go and going 
myself into the bargain. Mrs. Short seemed very eager 
to have us both go, and, as I have never crossed the 
Atlantic, it seems to me that it might be sensible to avail 
myself of so favorable an opportunity. In a year or two 
from now, I shall be too old to go.” 

This statement of the case brought forth a general 
chorus of approval. They must go, by all means ; what 
was there to prevent ? They would have a glorious, 
gorgeous time. 

“ Whereabouts do you intend to travel ?” asked Ben, 
eagerly. 

“ In Italy, principally,” replied Constance. 

“ Then you will see Rome and Florence,” he cried, 
with melodramatic rapture. “ How I t envy you, Con !” 

“ But you don’t intend to allow the Shorts to pay 
your expenses ?” inquired Bill, with a wrinkling brow. 

“ No, my son, not mine, of course. They have invited 
Constance, but I go only on the understanding that I 
pay my own. It is of that I wish to speak. Can I 
afford it ?” 

“ I’ll pay for you both, myself,” exclaimed Harold, 
with a grandiloquent air, that caused Bill to smile sar- 
donically. “ I’ll draw you a check for three thousand 
to-morrow, and, if you need more, you shall have it.” 


2 76 


The Carle tons. 


“ Mother has more than ample means of her own,” 
said Bill, with dignity. 

“ Bless you, my boy, all the same,” said Mrs. Carleton, 
to her darling. “ Then it will not pinch you, Bill ?” 

“Pinch me? You will be able to go, and lay up 
money. But even if it would pinch us, we should insist 
on your going. 

“ If there’s any pinching to be done, I demand to con- 
tribute my share,” said Ben. “ I can’t draw a check for 
three thousand at one fell swoop like Harold, but I can 
draw a sketch or two.” 

“ I have nearly three hundred dollars in the bank 
which I have earned as a nurse,” said Violet, “ and I 
can earn more.” 

“ What nonsense !” exclaimed Bill, irritated by the 
supposition that any such drain upon the family 
resources was necessary. “ Mother does not need assist- 
ance from any of us, I tell you. Besides, it will cost 
very little more for her to travel abroad than if she 
lived at home, especially as we are now all able to take 
care of ourselves, and can, therefore, pay the household 
bills while she is gone, if we choose, out of our own 
pockets.” 

“ Hurrah ! We do choose ; we’ll do that, then !” cried 
Ben, jumping eagerly at this concession to the general 
desire to be of pecuniary assistance. 

“But I wish to add,” Bill went on, with a certain 
haughtiness, “ that if mother does need anything at any 
time, I am in a position to see that she has it.” 

“ One would suppose from the way Bill talks,” said 
Harold, “ that none of the rest of us had the right to do 


A Twelve- Month. 


2 77 


anything for her. Ample means or not, I intend to 
draw that check to-morrow 

“You are all as good and generous as can be,” inter- 
rupted Mrs. Carleton, “ and I know you would each of 
you let me have your last dollar if I needed it ; but you 
hear what Bill says : that I have income enough and to 
spare for a trip abroad. As to Constance, since Mr. and 
Mrs. Short have asked to be allowed to pay her expenses 
and can well afford to do so, I see no objection, on the 
whole, to our permitting it. They are old friends, and 
might, I think, reasonably feel hurt if we stood on our 
pride in the matter and insisted that she pay for her- 
self.” 

This view of the subject met with some opposition, 
particularly from Harold, who announced that he did 
not believe in being beholden to anybody. They were 
not paupers, he said, and could pay their own way, and 
he did not like the idea that a sister of his should be 
scooting over Europe at some one else’s expense, when 
she might get all the money she wished at home. But 
finally Mrs. Carleton’s argument that there was such a 
thing as false pride, and that the generous offers of 
true friends deserved to be accepted, prevailed with the 
rest of the family, and before the ist of November, the 
travelers were on the ocean, expecting to be away 
until the following June. 



CHAPTER XXXII. 

RENEWING OLD TIMES. 

It had been arranged that Violet should give up her 
duties as nurse during their absence and keep house for 
her brothers. This plan was very agreeable to Violet, 
for she felt rather the need of rest. She had been hard 
at work now for the better part of three years, first at the 
hospital, where she had learned the care of the sick, and 
later as a trained nurse for hire. In this experience she 
had not only necessarily seen much of the suffering 
and sadness which is the portion of humanity ; but she 
had been brought in contact with able and thoughtful 
men of the medical profession, whose untiring skill and 
devotion to their calling, and whose intelligent views of 
life had absorbed and fascinated her. Her labor had 
been veritably a labor of love, so thoroughly had she 
become imbued with interest in her chosen duties, and 
in the stress of occupation there had been little time to 
think of herself. If there was any reason to think that 
her wound had not healed, it was merely because she 
had turned a deaf ear to the admiration which her 
beauty had attracted, both among the physicians whose 
orders she obeyed and the invalids whom she attended. 


Renewing Old Times . 279 


A middle-aged doctor, with a lucrative practice, had 
intimated to her that she might become his second 
wife ; a young house-surgeon, with high hopes of prefer- 
ment, had made her the offer of his hand and heart ; 
and she was conscious that she could have married one, 
at least, of her patients, had she been disposed to give 
him the least encouragement. But, though she was in 
some measure touched by the affection which she thus 
involuntarily awakened, she felt not the least desire to 
alter her condition, not the least thrill of reciprocating 
attachment. 

And yet she was glad now of the excuse for rest 
afforded her ; and, rather to her own surprise, she found 
her spirits rising in the performance of her simple 
domestic duties. Especially did she take delight in the 
resumption of intimacy with her brothers and inter- 
course with the outer world, which her busy life had 
almost completely interrupted. It was pleasant to her 
to realize that it no longer irked her to meet and con- 
verse with intelligent people, and that there were so 
many matters which interested her, and which she was 
eager to discuss. 

All this did not really dawn upon her until after she 
had been at home several weeks, and she had been 
passing two or three evenings out of every seven in the 
society of the broad-shouldered young man, with the 
full brown beard, whom she had almost accosted on 
the landing, in mistake for one of her brothers, some 
twelve months before. He was, in truth, almost the 
only intelligent person of the outer world with whom 
she met and conversed ; but it is easy enough to 
generalize from the particular, without being altogether 


28 o 


The Carletons, 


conscious of the fallacy therein involved, which is, after 
all, only partially a fallacy. Certainly, Harrison Fay 
was capable of representing very creditably to a woman 
the intelligent outer world ; and when a young man is 
equal to such responsibility, why is he not preferable to 
half a dozen ? 

Without dwelling upon this particular point further, 
suffice it to say that the friendship between Ben and the 
young electrical engineer seemed to have acquired a fresh 
impetus with the return of the second Miss Carleton 
under the parental roof. He was perpetually dropping 
in to see Ben on one pertext or other, and usually in 
the evening, when a certain young lady was likely to be 
in the drawing-room. Harrison was as fond as ever of 
discussing all sorts of subjects with his old crony, and 
the presence of this third spirit acted as a stimulus 
upon his rhetorical and argumentative powers to a 
degree that was wonderful to himself. He was amazed 
at his own eloquence in expressing his views concern- 
ing the various problems connected with the philosophy 
of living which they debated. 

These evening discussions grew to be a regular 
institution. Violet, who had read but little compared 
with either of the two others, was more inclined at first 
to listen than to talk, but she soon realized that one can 
form opinions without great familiarity with books, and 
that she had already reached convictions of her own on 
many matters by virtue of her active practical experi- 
ence. It. will be remembered that in their student days 
Ben had been a ferocious idealist, and Harrison an 
uncompromising materialist, but now, curiously enough, 
though they were much nearer together in opinions 


Re7iewi?ig Old Times . 


281 


than formerly, they had to a certain extent exchanged 
beliefs. 

That is to say, Ben was a little more willing to take 
into consideration the bread-and-butter side of an argu- 
ment, and thus correlatively more inclined to apply an 
interrogation mark, so to speak, to propositions of which 
the component parts were misty. On the other hand, 
Harrison had derived from deeper study into the mys- 
teries of science a love of truth for its own sake which 
spurred him into excursions that savored of star-dust 
and world-tides, and prophesied glorious possibilities 
for untrammeled and enlightened human nature. 
Strangely enough, too, this attitude of ardent optimism 
seemed to become the more pronounced the more Har- 
rison saw of Violet, and that in spite of the fact that she 
was in a certain sense the least of an idealist of the 
three, and was ever disposed to cast her vote in favor 
of more practical, matter-of-fact views. And yet Violet 
could not help being interested by the glowing word- 
pictures which this broad-shouldered, manly-looking 
student of earth’s mysteries drew as to what life meant 
and what it ought to be. She would sit drinking in 
what he had to say, fascinated in spite of herself, and all 
the more ready to listen with patience because Ben had 
told her that in the work of his prof ession Harrison was 
cool, practical and tenacious of his end. Not only she 
was fascinated, but Ben also, and often the sometime 
rampant idealist would, out of the sheer desire to hear 
his antagonist talk, pursue the opposite argument far 
boyond the limits of his own belief. Oftener still, how- 
ever, when the conversation had been brought to an end 


282 


The Carletons . 


by the cruel progress of hours and minutes, Ben would 
exclaim, by way of summing up the situation : 

“ After all, old fellow, we differ only to agree. We 
have practically the same ideas, and we both know it.” 

Then, with a nod of acquiescence to his friend, the 
enthusiast, come down to earth again, would take his 
leave of Violet shyly and respectfully, adding, perhaps, 
a word of apology to convey the hope that he had not 
bored her by his eloquence. 

Occasionally, too, Bill would take a part in these 
evening discussions, though the part of an auditor 
rather than of an active participant. Topics relating to 
literature, philosophy, science and art were out of his 
domain ; and if he happened to be at home, he would 
sit in a corner of the sofa listening, with a smile on his 
lips that was a little superior. Once in a while when 
the subject changed to be one regarding which every- 
day knowledge was of service, he would express an 
opinion in clear, common sense terms that seemed to 
leave little room for further argument. Consider- 
ing, therefore, his apparently condescending attitude, 
Violet was much astonished to hear him remark one day, 
when she and he happened to be passing the evening 
together, and he was sitting ruminating with a cigar : 

“ I wish very much that I had been obliged to go to 
college.” 

“ Do you ?” she replied, not knowing in her surprise 
exactly what to say. 

u Yes. Father gave me the choice of going to college 
or going into business, and, not knowing any better, I 
chose business, though mother tried her best to per- 
suade me not to. Well,” he added, with a sigh, “ what’s 


Renewing Old Times . 


283 


done is done, and there’s no use in crying over spilt milk, 
but if I ever have sons, I shall know what not to do.” 

“ But you’ve done very well, Bill. If you hadn't been 
a good business man, we should have had no one to fall 
back on when father died.” 

“ I’m a good business man, Violet ; but what else am 
I ? If I had gone to college, I might have been a good 
business man and something beside. When I hear you 
and Ben and Harrison Fay talking away like steam- 
engines about books and subjects which are the same as 
Greek to me, I realize my mistake more keenly than 
ever, and I began to realize it some time ago.” 

“ Well, of course, I can’t deny that I believe a college 
education is a great advantage to most boys, but as a 
little girl I can remember how anxious you were not to 
go, and how eager you were to go into business. Very 
likely, if you had been forced to go against your will, 
you would have misspent your time and got into mis- 
chief. As it is, you have managed the business splen- 
didly, so that our finances are beginning to look up 
again, and mother is likely to be able to live in comfort 
and without anxiety for the rest of her days. I think 
you have plenty to be proud of, Bill.” 

This was somewhat consoling, but nevertheless Bill 
shook his head disconsolately. Not that the conscious- 
ness of his deficiencies interfered seriously with his 
happiness ; but it operated, in spite of his own desire to 
esteem himself highly, as a limitation to his self-esteem. 
In growing wiser, his eyes had been opened to his own 
lack of education. 

Bill was beginning to grow a little portly. Prosperity 
and the absence of worry had been quick to manifest 


284 


The Carle tons. 


themselves in increased avoirdupois and renewed atten- 
tion to his personal appearance. He showed signs of an 
inclination to cultivate society again. Very soon after 
his mother’s departure he invested in a saddle-horse, 
which he found leisure to ride, and which he drove also 
in a neat, quiet-looking cart ; a very modest equipage 
compared with the dashing wagonette and pair with 
which Harold was edifying the community. The last 
named young gentleman was spending money like 
smoke, and yet, according to his own account, laying up 
a handsome sum every quarter. He already had, beside 
this pair, a hunter and a hack for every-day use ; was 
building a sloop yacht with the hope of electrifying the 
nautical world ; was a prominent club-man and had 
lately begun to devote himself to the gentler sex in 
spite of the sneers of Charley Daggett and his crew, 
who were of the stalwart opinion that society was a 
bore and were fain to keep Harold to themselves. 

But here again he shocked the sensibilities of his 
brothers and sisters by selecting as the objects of his 
attentions the most noisy and most conspicuous among 
the young women in society. These he showered with 
roses, and drove out in his wagonette successively, 
causing a gentle flutter in their respective bosoms, and 
excruciating fears in the bosom of his family as to 
whether he might not any day make an endowment of 
himself and all his worldly goods. 

“ I say, Harold,” said Ben, one day, in the midst of 
the domestic circle ; “ I protest, as the artist of the 
family, against the concatenation of color on your coach 
this afternoon. I don’t pretend to be a society man, or 
a competent critic of the charms of lovely woman, but, 


Renewing Old Times . 


285 


really, I do trust that you don’t intend to thrust a sister- 
in-law upon us who confounds her greens and her pinks 
and her yellows so hopelessly.” 

Bill gave vent to a chuckle of delight by way of 
approval, and exchanged a sympathetic glance with 
Violet. 

“ Who was it ?” she asked, merry in her turn. 

“ Give it up,” said Ben. 

“ Miss Daisy Chandler,” said Bill, by way of explana- 
tion. 

“ Oh, yes,” answered Violet, with one of her old-time 
giggles. 

Harold, who had perceived the exchange of glances, 
drew himself up haughtily, half tempted to be angry ; 
then, obviously struck by an idea, he exclaimed : 

“ That’s all right, Ben ! You needn’t feel any con- 
cern about me. I drive one to-day and another to- 
morrow. But if you are apprehensive on the score of 
matrimony, there’s one member of this family will bear 
watching, I can tell you.” 

“ Who’s that ?” 

“ He sits directly opposite. I refer to our respected 
eldest brother. I am ready to take my solemn oath 
that I’ve met him driving out the same young lady three 
times in the last week, and I saw them walking on Sun- 
day, to boot.” 

“ How’s that, Bill ?” asked Violet. 

“ A very old story, ” he answered, looking confused in 
spite of his effort to appear at ease, but evidently not 
altogether displeased. 

“It may be old, but it will bear watching, all the 
same.” 


286 


The Carle tons. 


“ I suppose it is only fair that we should know her 
name,” Ben suggested. 

“ Certainly,” interjected Bill. “ It was Miss Ethel 
Davis, if you wish to know.” 

“ The same,” said Harold, with a triumphant smile. 
“ Well, why wouldn’t it be a good thing all around ?” he 
added, jocularly. “ They are neither of them chickens, 
and each might go a good deal further and fare worse.” 

No one was prepared to dispute the soundness of this 
assertion, and Bill himself merely smiled enigmatically. 
It was certainly true that he and Ethel had been seeing 
a good deal of each other of late. Though no chicken, 
as Harold had said, Ethel was no less handsome than 
formerly. She had received much attention and 
admiration in society and several offers of marriage, but 
somehow she still remained single at an age when the 
whirl of social life had begun to pall a little. She had 
been abroad once or twice, and to Florida and to 
California, and spent summers at Lenox and Bar Harbor 
and Newport, and the right man had not come along. 
People who knew her best expressed the opinion that she 
never would marry, and her mother was beginning to 
be decidedly anxious on that score. She had lately 
taken to photographing as a new form of diversion, and 
had become an enthusiastic horsewoman. She must at 
least always keep herself occupied, and whatever she did, 
she liked to do with all her heart, therein greatly differ- 
ing from her brother Randolph, for whose indolence she 
was prone to express hearty contempt. From the time 
of his marriage, Randolph had gradually degenerated 
into a luxurious, cane-sucking club-man, who it was 
next to impossible to arouse to enthusiasm on and 


Renewing Old Times . 


287 


subject, unless it were a good dinner or the charms of 
some other man’s wife. He had grown corpulent, which 
sadly interfered with his good looks and powers of 
fascination. He and his wife appeared at balls and 
dinner-parties together, but at other times seemed to 
prefer the society of somebody else. They were 
extremely fashionable, however, though it would be 
difficult to say exactly why. 

The reappearance of Bill in the gay world after the 
lapse of several seasons, had been an agreeable sur- 
prise to Ethel. It had seemed more or less like the 
return in the real flesh of one supposed to be dead for- 
ever. She had always liked him very well, and she 
found him now greatly improved ; no longer an awk- 
ward stripling, but a dignified man. He, in his turn, 
conscious that the wound which she had inflicted had 
^ healed and left no scar, was glad to take up their friend- 
ship on the old terms. 

“What have you been doing all these years?” she 
had inquired the first time they met, hoping, perhaps, 
that he would intimate that he had been wearing the 
willow for her. But his reply had revealed clearly 
that she had been but little in his thoughts, to say the 
• least, and it was undoubtedly the best thing for Bill 
that this was made apparent. They had renewed their 
acquaintance on a purely Platonic basis on either side, 
and their friendship had become surprisingly interest- 
ing to each of them. Ethel doubtless detected herself 
thinking that, if she were ever going to marry, she 
would be safe in accepting a man so presentable and 
worthy, whom she at the same time respected and liked 
heartily, even if she were not desperately enamored of 


288 


The Carletons . 


him ; and it may be that Bill, in letting his rekindled 
passion have full sway, reflected that a marriage with 
the daughter of Leroy Davis would be of great advan- 
tage to him both socially and financially. Certainly, at 
the time Harold divulged the affair, he had made up 
his mind to win her if he could. 




CHAPTER XXXIII. 

TWO OF A KIND. 

The disclosure concerning Ethel took place toward 
the end of December. On Christmas Eve, a few days 
later, the Carletons were assembled in the drawing- 
room, making preparations for Christmas, and regret- 
ing the absence of their mother and their sister, when 
the door-bell rang, and a moment after a visitor entered. 
He was a brisk, wiry -looking young man, with a healthy 
glow on his cheeks, and keen, sparkling eyes, which, 
even as he stood for an instant on the threshold, glanced 
eagerly around the room, as though in search of some- 
thing or some one, to the exclusion of everything and 
everybody else. 

“ By Jove ! it’s Percy !” exclaimed Ben, springing 
forward with delight. “ How are you, old fellow ? 
This is a Christmas present, indeed.” 

Percy it certainly was, and very much the same 
Percy in appearance ; scarcely a day older-looking, so 
they all said, except for his large mustache and that he 
had a more serious expression, with a few lines on his 
forehead, which indicated that he had become familiar 



290 


The Carle tons. 


with care and hard work since last they met. He looked 
stronger, too, and less of an exquisite in his attire, 
though he was well and stylishly dressed. 

His reception was thoroughly hearty. He was plied 
with questions, and, before he knew it, was telling 
them, in his old chatty, vivacious way, all about the 
wonderful West. He declared that he was in love with 
the West, and never wished to return home, except for 
a visit. 

Home ? No ; the West was his home. He had come 
this time for a fortnight’s holiday, the only vacation he 
had taken since he went out there. 

At this point, his gaze, which had been wandering 
furtively around the room, centered itself on Violet, and 
he said : 

“ Your mother and sister are quite well, I hope ?” 

“ They’re very well ; but they’re in Europe, you 
know.” 

“ In Europe ?” he exclaimed, in a tone of such undis- 
guised disappointment that a smile compressed the lips 
both of Ben and Violet. “ No ; I did not know.” 

“ Yes ; they sailed two months ago, to be gone until 
the early summer,” Violet continued. “Needless to 
say, they will be very sorry to have missed you.” 

This was evidently a sockdolager for Percy. But 
there was nothing for him to do, save to accept the situ- 
ation and make the best of it, which resulted in his 
entertaining them all for an hour with tales of his 
experiences in the far West. When, however, he got 
up to go, he persuaded Ben to stroll back with him to 
his father’s house, where he was staying, and have a 


Two of a Kind. 


291 


smoke. For a moment, he walked along- in silence ; 
then he said : 

“ I suppose you know why I’ve come East ?” 

“ I can guess, I think.” 

“ Well, tell me, old fellow : Have I any chance ? 
Does she care for me ? Is there any other man in the 
running ? Let me know the whole truth just as it is. 
I came on purpose to see her, and I find that she’s 
abroad.” 

“ There is no other man, Percy, at least so far as I 
know.” 

“ Thank God for that !” 

“ As to the rest, I don’t know what to say. She likes 
you, I know, but as to how much she likes you — why 
don’t you write to her and find out ?” 

Percy reflected a moment. 

“ I will,” he said. “ I’ll write to-night to know my 
fate and — and I’ll ask her to cable her answer.” 

Ben laughed outright. “ That’s Western enterprise 
with a vengeance.” 

“Why not? When a man is dead in love with a 
woman, he is in need of a prompt answer, if he ever 
is.” 

“ I suppose so. Unfortunately or fortunately, I was 
never in that predicament.” 

The letter was written and posted that night. For 
the next week Percy’s attention was principally occu- 
pied in making computations; as to when it. would prob- 
ably be received. His lady-love was somewhere in 
Italy. After crossing the ocean and passing into the 
hands of her bankers in London, it would have to be 
forwarded and run the risk of delay> to say nothing of 


292 


The Car let ons. 


non-delivery. Then, too, the steamer might break her 
screw or run into an iceberg and the missive be 
retarded or swallowed up in the Atlantic. 

All these tormenting doubts were so rife in Percy’s 
mind that after the first evening it was difficult for Ben, 
who saw him constantly, to induce him to talk about 
anything else. But he managed to learn that Percy’s 
affairs were sufficiently prosperous for him to be able 
to support a wife, and that his future in the railroad 
field looked very bright. Moreover, many of the 
investments in which his father’s money had been sunk 
had improved greatly in value, and his father was likely 
to be a rich man again. 

The days passed, and Percy was beginning to be very 
downcast. In vain Ben represented that Italy was a 
long w r ay off. He shook his head and declared that 
either the letter had miscarried or she had preferred to 
write her refusal. 

“ I don’t see why she could not have put me out of 
my misery at once,” he added, “ though I don’t know 
what will become of me if she does refuse me.” 

“ Cheer up, old man, and give her time.” 

Twelve days had gone by. Percy’s leave of absence 
was nearly at an end. He must start for the West the 
day after to-morrow. 

Again and again he had visited the Atlantic-cable 
office to make sure that no message for him had been 
mislaid by mistake and to see that they had his correct 
address ; but the agent gave him no satisfaction. He 
walked the streets with Ben, a melancholy being, never 
willing to be out of doors long for fear it might arrive 


Two of a Kind. 


293 


in the meantime. Even Ben was beginning to think 
that the .letter could not have reached Constance. 

“ I feel, “ said Percy, on the thirteenth morning, while 
they were out walking, “very much like King ^Egeus 
when he was watching the horizon for a glimpse of the 
white sails of his son Theseus who had gone to kill the 
Minotaur. It means life or death to me.” 

“ Poor old Percy !” said Ben, sympathetically, struck 
by the earnestness of his friend’s voice. 

“ Thanks, old fellow. I shall try to be a man, though, 
whatever happens.” 

They went up the steps of Mr. White’s house, and 
Percy, unlocking the door, stepped into the hall. As 
was his wont, he looked at the table where letters were 
left, and springing forward, held up a brown envelope, 
the character of which was unmistakable. 

“ It has come !” he cried. Instinctively he stepped 
into the side room that opened into the hall. Ben 
waited outside. For a moment there was a dead still- 
ness, then Percy, with his eyes full of tears, stepped out, 
and with an ecstatic : “ Oh, Ben, Ben, read this !” he 
threw his arms around his friend’s neck and hugged him. 

“ I say, I say ; how am I to read it if you go on like 
that, playing the polar bear act on me ?” cried Ben ; 
and, having freed himself at last, he held the telegram 
to the light, It was very short and concise, leaving no 
room for uncertainty : 

« Yes. Constance.” 

“ Hurrah !” cried Ben, waving it above his head. 
“ Brother-in-law, how are you ?” 


294 


The Carle tons. 


It was a day of great excitement in the Carleton house- 
hold. The evening was passed in concocting a cable- 
gram of congratulation. Violet and Ben put together 
their wits and produced the following, which they 
adjudged to be inexpensive, tender and discerning, all 
at the same time : 

“ To Miss Constance Carleton, 

“ Venice : 

“ Delighted but not surprised. 

“ The Carletons.” 

Percy remonstrated laughingly, and declared that it 
was outrageous and should not be sent. 

“ And why, pray ?” asked Violet. “ She is not yours 
yet, Mr. Lover from the wild and woolly West. When 
you are married' it will be time to dictate to her family.” 

Bill, after hearing the news, had pleaded an engage- 
ment for the evening and slipped out. It was eleven 
o’clock when he returned. Violet, Ben, Harold and 
Percy were still confabulating in the drawing-room. 
As he entered, looking immaculate in evening dress, he 
wore a slight air of confusion, which prompted Ben to 
exclaim : 

“And where have you been, Mr. Man? Your 
engagement must have been a very particular one to 
have caused you to desert your family at such a time. 
Come, give an account of yourself.” 

Bill smiled in a shame-faced fashion, and his air of 
confusion increased. He seemed to hesitate a moment ; 
then he said, mysteriously : 

“ Can you stand two shocks in one day, good people ?” 


Two of a Kind. 


295 


“Oh, Bill! Bill! You don’t mean to tell you’re 
engaged ?” cried Violet, with sudden inspiration. 

“ Bill engaged ?” echoed Ben. “ Is it true ? By Jove ! 
see him color. You’ve hit it, Violet, I do believe.” 

“ Yes ; I’m engaged,” Bill answered, with a sort of 
hang-dog delight. 

“ To Miss Davis, of course ?” cried Harold. 

Bill nodded. 

“ She accepted me yesterday, and — and I should have 
told you all this morning ; but she — Ethel wished to tell 
her father and mother first.” 

Here was another piece of exciting intelligence, 
indeed, Percy and Bill shook hands like madmen over 
their common happiness, while the others presently 
devoted themselves to concocting a second cablegram 
to inform their mother of the news. 

For the next few months, there was agitated corres- 
pondence between those abroad and those at home. 
After the ecstasies of congratulation were over, the 
various feminine minds concerned began to grapple 
with the necessary matrimonial arrangements. Percy 
wished to be married as soon as possible. He wrote that 
he had hired an attractive little house, which he was 
furnishing to the best of his ability, but that he sorely 
needed female judgment as to carpets and wall-papers. 
But even this pathetic argument failed to bring his bride 
to be home sooner than the date which she had stipu- 
lated in her second letter to him, the 15 th of May, a 
month earlier than had been her expectation when she 
went abroad. For, as she forcibly represented, how 
could she come home any earlier ? What woman who 
happened to be in Paris at such a time would neglect 


296 


The Carletons. 


the opportunity of providing herself with a wedding 
outfit ? And not only had she her own to look after, 
but dear Ethel's also. Much as she was longing to see 
her dearest Percy, he must wait patiently until the 15 th 
of May. To finish a day before that would be simply 
out of the question. 

Of course, Violet and Ethel rushed into each other’s 
arms, so to speak, and became the fastest friends again. 
Ethel, to say nothing of Mrs. Davis, was all in a flutter 
over the thousand and one preparations which had to be 
thought of. As has been intimated, the all important 
question of the trousseau was solved by sending a list 
and full instructions to Constance, one of the secret and 
underlined instructions being that on no account was 
Mrs. Short to be allowed to choose any of the things. 

“ She is the best of women, I know, my dear,” wrote 
Ethel, ‘‘but I’m sure that even you will not maintain 
that she dresses well.” 

This matter having been set at rest, there still 
remained more to be done than seemed possible to Mrs. 
Davis in the short time allowed. The happy pairs were 
to be married on the same day, the 3d of June. Though 
Constance was theoretically averse to an ostentatious 
wedding, she found herself combated by the wishes of 
the Davis family, who, as Mr. Davis, the father, 
oracularly expressed it, wished Ethel to be married in 
a church in the presence of her friends, in a Christian 
manner. Constance was at first in favor of being 
married at home in her traveling-dress ; but having 
found that her mother was rather of Mr. Davis’s 


Two of a Kind. 


29 7 


opinion, and that Percy had no opinion at all on the 
subject except that he wished to be married as soon as 
could be, she resigned herself to the pomp, importance 
and perplexities of a fashionable ceremony, which was 
not without its glamour even for her. 

As is customary when young people are on the brink 
of matrimony, presents from relations and friends began 
to pour in. One of the first of these was a check from 
Harold of one thousand dollars apiece to each of the 
brides, to expend as they might see fit. 

“You may like to buy some little thing or other for 
your house after you’re married,” he said in an off-hand 
way to Ethel, as though he regarded his gift as a 
mere bagatelle. 

Bill, when he heard of this munificence, was decid- 
edly annoyed and wished to return at least a part of 
the money ; but he realized that he should offend 
Harold seriously by offering to do so. He was fur- 
ther irritated by learning from Randolph Davis that 
some wag at the club had advised that the checks in 
question be promptly cashed. 

It was May at last. The latest letters from Paris 
had reported that the finishing touches were being given 
to the bridal apparel, and that the travelers would be 
ready to sail on the day appointed. Percy wrote from 
the West that owing to the press of business on his 
railroad he could arrive only the night before the cere- 
mony, and so would be unable to greet Constance and 
her mother on their arrival. This was depressing news 
for Constance, who had hoped that he would be able to 
meet her and pass in her society the few days that 
would intervene between the date of her landing and 


298 


The Carletons . 


their wedding-day ; but the array of presents which she 
found awaiting her made her lover’s absence seem less 
unbearable. Up to within three days before the 
wedding, Constance had received one hundred and 
eighteen presents and Ethel one hundred and thirty- 
five, including a handsome silver service apiece, and 
costly pictures, glass, books, articles of furniture and 
household ornaments. Sophia, who had contributed 
her own mite in the shape of a dozen table-napkins 
embroidered by her own hand, took Ben apart on the 
day after his sister’s arrival and said : 

“ Master Ben, why don’t you give her that fine picture 
of yours upstairs ?” 

“ Which one ?” he asked, not understanding what she 
had in mind. Then, before she could reply, he 
exclaimed, with an outburst of laughter: “You don’t 
mean ‘ The Chariot Race,’ surely, Sophia ?” 

“ Yes, sir. It would please her,” she replied, benignly. 
“ It’s a beautiful picture, Master Ben.” 

Ben found considerable difficulty in persuading 
Sophia that her young lady could possibly prefer a gift 
of another kind. 

It was amusing to observe how jealous the old nurse 
was in Constance’s behalf, even to the disparagement 
of the other bride, whose lead in the number of presents 
received was a cause of numerous head-shakings and 
mumblings on the part of tha't excellent woman. 

“ She’s nice, folks say,” she confided to Ben, “ and she 
was always fine-looking in spite of her proud ways ; but 
when it comes to putting her alongside my young lady, 
it’s no less than plotting and conspiring, say I.” 



CHAPTER XXXIV. 

A WATERLOO OF FINANCE. 

Late on the afternoon of that third day before the 
wedding, Bill came into the house with so grave and 
disturbed an expression that his mother and Violet and 
Ben, who were in the room, exclaimed, simultaneously : 

“ Why, what’s the matter, Bill ? Has anything hap- 
pened ?’’ 

“Yes," he answered, shortly; “a great deal has 
happened. Harold has failed." 

“ Failed ! How awful !" ejaculated Violet, while the 
others stared at him aghast. 

“ What do you mfean, my son ?" Mrs. Carleton added, 
with a look of bewildered pain. 

“ His firm has suspended payment. It cannot meet 
its obligations, and has had to go to the wall. There 
are one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars in 
good money, to say nothing of anything they had made 
in the last two years, gone to the dogs." 

“ But I thought a broker couldn’t fail. That was 
what they always said," exclaimed Violet. 

Bill smiled contemptuously. 



300 


The Carle tons. 


“ A broker who speculates can fail rather worse than 
any one else. I knew it was only a question of time 
when he did fail, but I hoped that at least it would not 
happen until after the wedding.” 

“ But where is Harold ? Have you seen him ?” inquired 
Mrs. Carleton, eager to know the details, but overawed 
by Bill’s repellent mien. 

“ I have just left him. We have been together all 
day.” 

“ Will it — er — be publicly announced ?” 

“ It will be known ; it is known that the firm is in 
difficulties ; but,” he added, with the same close-mouthed 
manner, “ the worst is over, so far as the public is con- 
cerned.” 

“ You are talking in riddles, Bill,” exclaimed Ben. 
“ Don’t you see how anxious mother is to know all there 
is to know ?” 

Bill scowled a moment, then he said : 

“ There is very little more to know. Harold came to 
me last night, and told me how the matter stood. If he 
had confided in me earlier, I might have been able to 
stave it off, or, at least, prevented any publicity. He 
and Lemuel and I and some of the bank people have 
been together all day. The long and the short of it is 
that the debts of the firm have been taken care of, and 
their business is to be wound up.” 

“Then there will be no scandal, after all. Thank 
Heaven for' that,” said the mother. “ Poor Harold ! ” 

“ 1 Poor Harold,’ indeed ! But what can you expect 
when two headstrong youths fancy they can accumulate 
fortunes in two years? They may thank their lucky 
stars it was no worse. If, instead of applying to me, 


A Waterloo of Finance. 


301 


they had gone in deeper, they could not have escaped 
public disgrace/’ 

“ How bad was it ?” asked Violet. 

“ You mean their indebtedness ? They owed at least 
thirty thousand dollars they couldn’t pay.” 

“ And who paid it?” said Ben. 

“ As long as it was paid, no matter who paid it.” 

“ I can see. It was you paid it, Bill,” said Violet. 

“ Well, since you insist upon knowing, I paid half and 
Mr. Hazard half. I paid part of my share in cash, and 
gave a note for the rest.” 

tm That was noble of you, my son.” 

“ It was necessary, mother ; that is all. I couldn’t see 
the family disgraced while I had the means to prevent 
it.” 

“ But we all ought to be allowed to help,” cried Violet. 
“We will share the loss all round.” 

“ Of course we will,” said Ben. 

But Bill would not hear of such a proposition. The 
matter was adjusted and settled, he said ; he was the 
business man of the family, and the only one able to 
afford the loss. The bank would give him all the time 
he needed on his note, and Harold would like enough 
be able to repay him some day. He declared his will- 
ingness, moreover, to take Harold into his office again, 
provided he were prepared to buckle down soberly to 
business. This last offer he made that evening when 
the matter of the fiasco had been thoroughly dis- 
cussed, and all were considering what was to become 
of Harold. He, poor fellow, had slunk into the house, 
and, after receiving a tender embrace from his mother, 
had shut himself up in his room. 


302 


The Carletons. 


“ I know what would be the best thing for him,” said 
Constance, suddenly. “He shall come out West with 
us, and Percy will find him a position on his railroad.” 

“Ah, but I could not bear to lose him !” exclaimed 
Mrs. Carleton. “ Away from the influence of home in 
that terrible West, he would be sure to go wrong.” 

“ That’s absurd, mother,” said Bill. “ It would be the 
best thing in the world for him to be able to cut loose 
from his old surroundings and start fresh in a place 
where he isn’t known. But it remains to be seen what 
Percy may have to say ; positions on railroads are not 
to be had merely for the asking.” 

“They are for my asking,” answered Constance. 
“ Don’t feel anxious on that score, Brother William.” 

The accuracy of this statement was demonstrated 
within forty-eight hours. Before the bridegroom from 
the West was granted a private interview by his lady- 
love he had promised to find a place for Harold without 
delay. Give him a chance ? Of course he would give 
him a chance. Where would he himself be if he had 
not been given a chance at the same age ? 

“ Out West you shall go, Harold, if you only say the 
word,” he added, “ and I guarantee you a position.” 

“ I will go, Percy,” said Harold, humbly ; “ I should 
much prefer it to remaining here.” 

“ And now, my dear relations-in-law, since that matter 
is settled, suppose you give me a little breathing spell 
alone with the lady of my soul.” 

“ How greedy you are !” said Violet. “ After to-mor- 
row she will be yours forever, and yet you begrudge us 
these last few hours.” 

Nevertheless, she set an example to the others by 


A Waterloo of Finance . 303 


taking her departure from the room with prompti- 
tude. A few moments later, Percy had taken from his 
pocket a jeweler’s box, the spring of which he touched, 
and there was disclosed a sparkling sapphire ring. 

“ Oh, Percy, is this for me ?” 

“Such as it is; but it is not worthy of you. Yet 
nothing could be, Constance. I did not send it to you, 
because I wished to put it on your hand myself. To 
think,” he added, as he took her fingers in his and 
slipped the ring into its proper place, “ that I have you, 
after all. There was a time when I feared that you 
might never care for me.” 

Constance returned his ardent gaze with a shy, happy 
look. Then she. drew with her unoccupied hand a letter 
from her bosom and said : 

“ Do you remember this, Percy ?” 

He opened it expectantly. “ My valentine ! I should 
think I did ! And you have kept it all these years. 

“ 1 Maid with the dark-brown eyes 
And angel-like expression, 

You do not heed my sighs, 

But list to my confession : 

I know of no one half so sweet 
Who walks beneath the sky, 

And I will be your valentine 
Forever and for aye/ 

“ Say, sweet one, will you be mine ?” 

“ I have told you I would already,” she answered, 
burying her head on his shoulder. “And, Percy, I 
think I must have loved you a little all the time with- 
out knowing it.” 



CHAPTER XXXV. 

HAPPINESS GALORE. 

The morning fixed for the wedding was as bright and 
lovely as such days ought to be. The double ceremony 
was to take place at twelve o’clock, and, needless to say, 
everybody was so absorbed with his or her individual 
preparations, that no one had much time to consider 
what any one else was doing in the interim. Bill was 
in a feverish condition, and haunted by the idea that he 
should not be able to find the wedding-ring in his 
pocket at the critical moment. There was great bustle 
in the Carleton household, especially in the vicinity of 
Constance’s chamber, where her mother and Sophia, 
who was almost incoherent with excitement, were deck- 
ing her in her bridal attire. The various male person- 
ages interested in the affair had stipulated that there 
should be no delay at the church, and all the women of 
the household were so imbued with the conviction that 
the bride would not be ready in time, that they were 
constantly getting in one another’s way and making all 
sorts of minute-consuming blunders. All? That is, 
except Violet, for the good reason that Violet had not 



Happiness Galore . 


305 


been seen since breakfast. No one had missed her in 
the general confusion ; but now she was asked for, no 
one could remember having laid eyes on her. Where 
could she be ? 

“ I rather think she will be able to give a good 
account of herself,” said Mrs. Carleton, with a slightly 
knowing air, when Bill, who was already beginning to 
fuss as to the absolute necessity of punctuality, asked 
what had become of her. 

“ Well, in an hour from now we ought to be at the 
church,” he said, looking at his watch. “ That will give 
her very little time to dress.” 

Five minutes later, a carriage drove up to the house 
and stopped. From it Violet and Harrison Fay alighted 
and tripped up the steps. 

“ Where have you two been ?” asked Bill, who opened 
the door and surveyed them in astonishment. 

The pair exchanged a merry and somewhat abashed 
glance ; then Violet said, boldly : 

“We have just been out to get married, my dear 
brother. Behold the proof of it,” and she held up 
archly the third finger of her left hand, whereon glis- 
tened a plain gold ring similar to the one in Bill’s 
pocket. 

“ Married ! You two — married?” cried Bill, aghast. 

“ Why not ? Did you think that you and Constance 
had an exclusive right to the institution ?” 

“ What will mother say ?” Bill managed to stammer. 

“ Mother knows all about it. She is the only one in 
the secret. We have been engaged three weeks. Every- 
body was so occupied with the two certain weddings 


3°6 


The Carletons, 


that they left Harrison and me out of the account and 
to ourselves, which suited us exactly, didn’t it, dear ?” 

“ It certainly did,” answered the radiant apostle of 
electricity. 

“And when we came to think it over,” continued 
Violet, “ we both of us preferred to be married without 
fuss and feathers, especially as there were two other 
weddings so imminent in the family, and so we dis- 
pensed with everything usually considered indispensable 
to bride and groom, including wedding-cake, and we 
went out after breakfast, and were made man and wife. 
Harrison has hired a dear little house in the suburbs, to 
which we intend to wend our way later in the day, by 
way of a wedding journey. And now we are ready to 
eat a piece of your wedding-cake, if you will allow us 
some, Bill ; and we humbly beg your pardon for having 
got married without your leave. Down on your knees, 
Harrison ; the first was much harder, you know. Your 
blessing, brother.” 

“Well, what will happen next, I wonder ?” exclaimed 
the overwhelmed William. “ Bless you, my children ! 
Bless you ! Bless you !” 

“ To think,” said Ben, when he heard the news, a few 
minutes later, “ that it has been going on under my 
eyes for six months, and I was idiot enough never to 
dream of such a thing. I supposed that you two were 
interested in discussion solely for discussion’s sake.” 

******* 

And so they were married. And here at the altar we 
must leave the Carletons. As to their future, there is 


Happiness Galore . 


307 


little to be said, because their future is still before them. 
Yet the following letter, received a few weeks ago by 
Mrs. Carleton from Constance, written about two years 
and a half after her marriage, will interest those who 
may wish to follow their fortunes further : 

“ My Dear Mother : At last I am able to answer in 
my own handwriting your budget of home news, which 
has filled my soul with happiness, though I had my 
share of happiness already. I wish you could see the 
new baby. He is sweet, ’and a great deal prettier than 
his sister at the same age, and you remember she was 
not homely. I have decided to call him Percy, of course, 
though his father says it will breed confusion, later on, 
to have two Percys in the house. If Violet had not 
christened her baby after dear father, I might, possibly, 
have named him John, though I think it only natural 
for the eldest son to bear his father’s name. Don’t 
you ? I miss you, dear mother. It was such a relief to 
have you with me when Mary was bom ; but it would 
have been selfish to ask you to make the long journey 
again. I send you a kiss, and so does Baby Percy. 

“ And so dear old Highlands has been pulled down 
and the place cut up into building lots ! Since it will 
add to our income, I suppose we ought not to complain ; 
but what good times we children did have there when 
we were little ! I am happier now, though, dear mother, 
than I ever was. Life seems more to me every day. 
Percy is so good to me. 

“ I am glad to hear that Harrison has been made a 
professor of electrical science, and that his invention in 
connection with electricity promises to be so successful. 


3°8 


The Carletons. 


Percy says there should be 1 millions in it,’ and he 
wishes to take some of the stock. Give Violet my love 
and thank her for the baby’s blanket. I wish I could 
see her boy and she my two babies. Children are such 
a blessing that I do hope Ethel and Bill will not be long 
without one. You say they are well and that Bill is 
making money. I am glad of that. Their new house 
must be lovely, from your description. 

“ I am excited beyond measure by what you write me 
regarding Ben’s attentions to Miss M. Are you sure 
she is good enough for him ? I should like to see the 
dear old fellow happily settled down. He was meant 
for a domestic man, but somehow he has always avoided 
falling in love like the rest of us. It is rather a pity, as 
you say, that she has so little money ; but Ben will not 
think of that if he loves her, especially as he seems to be 
doing so well in his profession. I wish he could some- 
how make a little money, for no one would enjoy spend- 
ing it more than Ben. His work grows better and 
better ; people out here speak of it constantly, and you 
know a man has to be a pretty good artist or the West 
hasn’t time to notice him. 

“ And now I will let you into a little secret, in my 
turn, which concerns Harold. He is desperately 
devoted to a Miss Gammon, only daughter of the largest 
soap manufacturer in this part of the country. Very 
likely you have seen the advertisement “Gammon’s Soap” 
in the fly-leaves of some of the periodicals to which Ben 
contributes. Well, the Gammons are rather on the 
border line of society — we do draw the line, after a 
fashon, even here — and her father is a coarse, illiterate 
individual, but a very shrewd business man, Percy says, 


Happiness Galore. 


309 


and worth at least three million dollars. The daughter, 
whose name is Gabrielle — fancy Gabrielle Gammon ! — 
is very bright and rather slangy, and you, dear mother, 
would call her a little fast. But that is chiefly her 
manner ; and, after all, as Percy says, you can’t expect 
all the cardinal virtues with three millions. We shall 
see what we shall see. It seems that the old gentleman 
has taken a great fancy to Harold, who, as you well know, 
can fascinate any one he chooses. Certainly, coming 
out here has been the making of him, for he has been 
as steady as a church, and his attentions to Gabrielle 
have been the first digressions he has made from 
absolute devotion to his business. 

“ And here, dear mother, I must stop, and save the 
rest for another day. Percy is leaning over me, and says 
I shall not write another word for fear of overtiring 
myself, but I tell him he is a goose. Give my love to 
Sophia, and to the Shorts, if they have returned from 
Alaska, and thank Emma for the pink baby shoes ; and 
with oceans of love for yourself, dear mother, believe me, 
“ Your loving daughter, 

“Constance Carleton White.” 


THE END. 


THE NORTHERN LIGHT 


TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF 


E. WERNER, 


BY 

Mrs. D. M. Lowrey. 


12mo. 373 Pages. Handsomely Bound in Cloth, Price, $1.00. 
Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


Since the death of the author of “ Old Ma’mselle’s Secret,” 
Werner is the most popular of living German writers. Her 
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Light ” is one of her most characteristic stories. The heroine is 
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stantly piques the curiosity of the reader. 

For sale by all booksellers, or sent, postpaid, on receipt of 
price, by 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, Publishers, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


The Breach of Custom 


TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN 


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WITH CHOICE ILLUSTRATIONS BY O. W. SIMONS. 


Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 


This is a translation of an interesting and beautiful German 
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For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of 
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REUNITED 


A. STORY OF THE CIVIL WAR. 


BY A POPULAR SOUTHERN AUTHOR. 


Illustrated by F. A. Carter. 


Handsomely Decorated Paper Cover, Price, 60 Cents. Bound 
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A Sequel to “The Unloved Wife.” 


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/ 





A CAPITAL AMERICAN STORY. 


UNDER A CLOUD. 

BY JEAN KATE LUDLUM, 

Author of <e Under Oathf etc . 


ILLUSTRATED BY WARREN B. DAVIS. 

12mo. 300 Pagres. With Numerous Illustrations. Handsomely 

Bound in Cloth, Price, $1.00. Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


It was once asked by a celebrated Englishman : “Who reads 
an American Book?” The question is no longer a conundrum. 
American books are the popular reading of the present day.. 
“ Under a Cloud” is a spirited and pathetic account of the trials 
of a New York lady, who, in consequence of a promise wrung 
from her by her father, is put into relations with her husband 
which are almost unprecedented. The chain of circumstances 
by which the husband is implicated in a crime and the heroic 
efforts of the wife to traverse this chain and unravel the mystery 
make a history of overpowering interest. 

F or sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


THE IMPROVISATORE; 

OR, 

LIFE IN ITALY. 

TRANSLATED FROM THE DANISH OF 

Hans Christian Andersen, 

By MARY HOWITT. 

ILLUSTRATED BY HARRY O. EDWARDS. 


12mo. Bound in Cloth, $1.00. Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


This is an entrancing romance dealing with the classic scenes 
of Italy. To those who desire to behold with their own eyes 
those scenes, it will create a fresh spring of sentiment, and fill 
them with unspeakable longing. To those who have visited the 
fair and memory-haunted towers and towns of Florence, Rome 
and Naples, it will revive their enthusiasm and refresh their 
knowledge. Andersen published this novel immediately after 
his return from Italy, and it created an extraordinary effect. 
Those who had depreciated the author’s talent came forward 
voluntarily and offered him their homage. It is a work of such 
singular originality and beauty that no analysis or description 
could do it justice, and the universal admiration which it at once 
excited has caused it to be read and reread throughout the world. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
©n receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. Wiluam and Spruce Streets, New York. 


A LOVE 


MATCH. 


BY 


Sylvanus Cobb, Jr., 

Author of “ The Gunmaker of Moscow etc . 


WITH NUMEROUS CHOICE ILLUSTRATIONS BY Q. A. TRAVEL. 


Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Bound in Cloth, $1.00. 


Everybody recognizes Sylvanus Cobb’s great popularity. We 
offer this explanation : In his stories there is always something 
going on. His characters are never dull. They do not preach 
or philosophize, but act, work, quarrel, fight, make love, and 
keep the reader busy following up the movement in which every- 
thing culminates. “ The Gunmaker of Moscow ” is a constant 
succession of thrilling actions. “ A Love Match ” is a somewhat 
different kind of story, but the action is the main thing in it. 
From the very beginning, it is clear that the author has a story to 
tell of an interesting and original character. The eccentric old 
lady, so rich, reticent and mysterious, takes hold of the mind, 
and when she adopts the waif that is placed at her door, we are 
conscious of the fact that we are caught in a genuine story-teller’s 
toils. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New Toik. 


COUSIN PONS. 

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF 


HONORE DE BALZAC. 


12mo. 439 Pages. With Twelve Beautiful and Characteristic 

Illustrations by Whitney. Handsomely Bound in Cloth, Price, 
$1.00. Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


Cousin Pons is one of the most interesting characters in the 
whole range of Balzac’s wonderful creations. Balzac penetrated 
human nature to its depth. There is scarcely a type which 
evaded his keen eye. His characters are types of the living, 
human world swarming at his feet. His creations are as real as 
noble peaks standing out against an evening sky. In every one 
of Balzac’s novels there is a great human lesson. There is not a 
volume you can open which does not set forth some deep human 
truth by means of characterizations so vivid that they seem to 
breathe. So it is with “ Cousin Pons.” After reading it we 
think of him not as a character in a novel, but as a personage — a 
sweet and true soul — a simple enthusiast for art and beauty at 
the mercy of selfish and vulgar harpies. 


A NEW NOVEL 

By the Popular Author, Mrs. Amelia E. Barr. 


THE BEADS OF TASMER. 

BY 

Mrs. Amelia E. Barr. 

12mo., 395 pages. Handsomely Bound in English Cloth. Beauti- 
fully Illustrated by W. B. Davis. Uniform with “A Matter 
of Millions ” and “The Forsaken Inn,” -by Anna Katharine 
Green. Price, $1.25. 


“The Beads of Tasmer,” by Mrs. Amelia E. Barr, is a power- 
ful and interesting story of Scotch life. The singular and strenu- 
ous ambition which a combination of ancient pride and modern 
greed inspires ; the loveliness of the Scotch maidens, both High- 
landers and Lowlanders ; the deep religious nature of the people; 
the intense manifestation of these characteristic traits by Scotch 
lovers of high and low degree ; the picturesque life of the country, 
involving the strangest vicissitudes of fortune and the exhibition 
of the most loving and loyal devotion, constitute a theme which 
is of the highest intrinsic interest, and which is developed by the 
accomplished authoress with consummate art and irresistible 
power. “ The Beads of Tasmer ” is certainly one of Mrs. Barr’s 
very best works* and we shall be much mistaken if it does not take 
high rank among the most successful novels of the century. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent postpaid on 
receipt of $1.25 by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Corner William and Spruce Sts.,. New Yor&. 


EUGENIE GRANDET 


TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF 


Honore De Balzac. 

\ 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY JAMES FAQ AN. 


12mo. Bound in Cloth, $1.00. Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


“Eugenie Grandet” is one of the greatest of novels. It is the 
history of a good woman. Every student of French is familiar 
with it, and an opportunity is now afforded to read it in a good 
English translation. The lesson of the book is the hideousness 
of the passion of the miser. Eugenie’s father is possessed by it 
in a degree of intensity probably unknown in America, and to 
our public it will come as a revelation. What terrible suffering 
he inflicts upon his family by his ferocious economy and unscru- 
pulousness only Balzac’s matchless narrative could show. The 
beautiful nature of Eugenie shines like a meteor against the black 
background, and her self-sacrifice, her sufferings and her superb 
strength of character are wrought out, and the story brought to a 
climax, with the finest intellectual and literary power and dis- 
crimination. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


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The Carletons 

A NOVEL 

By Robert Grant, 

Author of “Mrs. Harold Stagg,” etc. 

ILLUSTRATED BY WILSON DE MEZA. 



N E W YORK: 

ROBERT BONNERS SONS, 
Publishers. 


A CHEAP EDITION 

In Ornamental Paper Cover. Price, 50 Cents. 


A NEW NOVEL 

By the Author of “The Forsaken Inn.” 

A MATTER OF MILLIONS. 

BY 

Anna Katharine Green. 

MAGNIFICENTLY ILLUSTRATED BY VICTOR PERARD. 

12mo. 482 Pages. Handsomely Bound in English Cloth. Gold 
Stamping on Cover. Price, $1.50. Paper Cover, 50 Cents 


This brilliant artistic novel will enhance the great reputation of 
the popular author of “The Forsaken Inn.” It is a story 
of to-day. The scene is laid in the city of New York and the 
village of Great Barrington, Mass. The story recites the strange 
adventures of a beautiful heiress who is herself so mysterious a 
creature that the reader cannot fathom her character until the 
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fied by two of the principal characters in the story. Everything 
conspires to make the story one of strong dramatic interest. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


THE POPULAR SERIES. 

A New 25-Cent Library of Copyright 

Novels 

For Sale by all Booksellers and Newsdealers. 


Issued February 7th. 

1. --THE OUTCAST OF MILAN. A Companion Story to “ The 

Gunmaker of Moscow.” By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. Paper 
Cover. Price, 25 Cents. 

Issued February 21st. 

2. "ROLLO OF NORMANDY. By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. Paper 

Cover. Price, 25 Cents. 

Issued March 7th. 

3. -MART SATTERLEE AMONG THE INDIANS. By William 

O. Stoddard. Paper Cover. Price, 25 Cents. 

Tacmod lYTor^b Ol of 

4. --KIT CARSON’S LAST TRAIL. By Leon Lewis. Paper 

Cover. Price, 25 Cents. 

Issued April 7th. 

5. --THE SCOURGE OF DAMASCUS. By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. 

Paper Cover. Price, 25 Cents. 

Issued April 21st. 

6. --THE GREAT KENTON FEUD. By Capt. Frederick Whit- 

taker. Paper Cover. Price, 25 Cents. 

Issued May 7th. 

7. --LUKE HAMMOND THE MISER. By Wm. Henry Peck. 

Paper Cover. Price, 25 Cents. 

Issued May 21st. 

8. -THE CONSPIRATOR OF CORDOVA. By Sylvanus Cobb, 

Jr. Paper Cover. Price, 25 Cents. 

Issued June 7th. 

9. "THE FORTUNES OF CONRAD. By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. 

Paper Cover. Price, 25 Cents. 

Tcaiiod Tima Ol Qt 

10. "THE DIAMOND SEEKER OF BRAZIL. By Leon Lewis. 

Paper Cover. Price, 25 Cents. 

Issued July 7th. 

11. -THE ROBBER COUNTESS. By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. Paper 

Cover. Price, 25 Cents. 

Issued July 21st. 

12. --BEL RUBIO* By Capt. Frederick Whittaker. Paper 

Cover. Price, 25 Cents. 



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